Two Years Later
by brickroad16
Summary: Sarah and Chuck reconnect two years after she leaves L.A.
1. Elevator

Title: Two Years Later

Summary: Sarah and Chuck reconnect two years after she leaves L.A.

Disclaimer: _Chuck _doesn't belong to me.

A/N: I'm still working on **Collide**, I just got a bit distracted. :)

* * *

The hotel feels like every other hotel she's stayed in since Los Angeles over two years ago – empty and lonesome. She's long since lost track of how many rooms, how many missions, how many other distractions she's tried to use to forget him. Walking down the drab beige hallway of the Boston Marriot that October evening, she can't stop her thoughts from once more turning to a lanky, curly-haired computer nerd.

She steps calmly onto the elevator, forcing thoughts of him from her mind, forcing herself to focus. She's about to go on a mission. She doesn't need stray thoughts of him to complicate things, to make her lose her concentration. As the elevator doors begin to shut, she compels herself to breathe steadily.

A man's voice calls from the hallway, "Wait! Wait!"

Her breath catches in her throat. She's frozen to the floor. That voice is so familiar, so . . .

A hand appears in the space between the closing elevator doors. They immediately stop and spring back open. He steps in, smiling and panting slightly from his jog down the hallway. She suddenly becomes very interested in the floor.

"Thanks for holding . . ." his voice trails off, and she knows that he's noticed her. He takes a step closer to her, and, with her head still down, she can see the tips of his worn-out Converse All-Stars nearly touching the toes of her own shoes. He's breathing heavier now, but more from confusion and shock than from running down the hall to catch the elevator.

Taking a deep breath, she schools her face into a neutral expression and looks up, hoping her eyes show less emotion than she feels.

"Excuse me, sir, but you're standing uncomfortably close to me."

His eyes go dark, and her heart almost breaks at the sight.

"Sarah . . ."

Thankfully there's another man in the elevator. If there weren't, she has a strong feeling that she would throw the mission out the window and jump into his arms right here.

But damn, he smells so _good_. After being forced to subdue her emotions for almost a decade, she entertains the thought of letting go for just one night.

One night.

She's not sure who it would destroy more. Because there's no way one night would ever be enough. She wants him in her life every day, and in her bed every night. She wants to feel his sturdy arms protecting_her_ for once, and wants to feel his soft kisses (because she's sure those lips would be soft and giving) claiming her lips as his own.

She can't look in his eyes, so she looks at the rest of his face. He's changed so much, but so little, too. He still has the same goofy grin, the one he was wearing when he stepped into the elevator has since disappeared, but now his mouth is encompassed by a goatee. His hair is cropped shorter, but the ends are starting to curl. She fights back the urge to run her hand through it, just to remind her fingers how it feels. His eyes – his eyes are the same, gorgeous brown color that they've always been, but there's a spark that's missing – that joyous light that she always loved.

His appearance is different in general. His clothes are nicer, more expensive, but still casual and a bit nerdy. After two years without his touch, she desperately wants to straighten his collar, but decides that it would be the worst thing for her to do right now. So she tortures herself by keeping her hands at her sides. In her discomfort, she snatches another glance at him. He looks healthy enough, but she can't help notice that he's lost some weight. Already a thin guy, she's sure that's not good. He carries himself differently, too – almost as if he's more important, but less confident.

After taking inventory of his appearance, she has the courage to respond, "I'm sorry, but my name's Rachel Meadows. You must have me confused with someone else."

He swallows, brows narrowed, and shifts to the side of the elevator so that she can't see his face anymore, jamming his hands in his pockets. She hopes he understands that this is a mission, that secrecy is vital, that ghosts from her non-existent pasts will just throw kinks into it and make her screw up. She has so much she wants to explain to him, but damn, did he have to pop up _right now_, just as she was leaving for part of a mission? She would chuckle at his uncanny timing if her heart didn't ache so much.

Her heart.

After suppressing and ignoring the pain for two whole years, she sometimes wonders if she has a heart left.

The elevator slows to a stop.

"It's just . . . you look so much like her . . . I could've sworn . . ." he whispers, and she's not sure if it's meant for her ears.

The doors open, and, willing her feet forward, she steps out slowly. Strolling into the lobby, she looks over her shoulder, only to see him staring at her with melancholic eyes. She hopes her gaze conveys her apologies, but now that her world's been tilted on its axis, she's not quite sure of anything anymore.


	2. Reconnect

She wills her breathing to slow down as she approaches his hotel room. She has absolutely no reason to be nervous, right? It's not like she just got back from a date with a member of an ambassador's inner circle who may be selling government secrets to the highest international bidder. No, nothing like that. She squeezes her eyes shut, and knocks firmly on the door.

The twelve seconds that it takes him to answer are absurdly brutal for her. She shifts back and forth on her feet, sighing anxiously. He finally opens the door, toothbrush in his mouth and a towel slung over his shoulder. They freeze, and she's not sure who takes the first breath. He scratches his head, then turns and disappears. She's about to protest when she hears him spitting out the toothpaste into the sink. He takes his time gargling water before returning to the door, a hardened look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Miss Meadows, was it? But you're standing a little too close to me."

His tone is cold, nothing like she remembers it. It's not like him to be bitter and vindictive, and the pang she feels is even greater when she realizes that he's bitter and vindictive because of what she's done to him.

It's a turning point, she realizes. Either he can let her in, and they may have a chance at starting over, or he can turn her away, and her life will end. Metaphorically, of course. Because ever since she left L.A., she's thought of him as her life force, as this abstract entity that somehow kept her sane throughout the missions and the killing and the spying.

"Chuck . . ." she breathes, and her voice is shaky and uneven. She tells herself that she couldn't use her training – to slow her breathing, or anything else – against him, but in reality, his presence is so great that she just can't concentrate on it. She lets the thought of him wash over her and guide her actions. Because if she wants to win him over, she has to be honest, even if that means being vulnerable.

His eyes soften a bit at the pain expressed in that one word. He sighs loudly and, after a moment's debate, shifts to the side of doorway, allowing her space to pass into the room.

She smiles weakly, and steps through the doorway. As she walks past him, her hand brushes his arm accidentally. Pulling her hand away quickly, she ignores the shock of electricity that jolted through her body at the contact. He doesn't close the door, maybe hoping she'll have an easy escape route, or maybe not wanting it to get too personal.

Once in the bland hotel room, he offers her a seat on the bed, but she takes one in a regular chair, afraid of the actions that might result from being so close to him and a bed at the same time.

He makes no effort to initiate the conversation, just leans awkwardly against the table. She's at a loss for how to begin. But what did she expect? That he would answer the door and sweep her into his embrace and they would live happily ever after? She scoffs silently at her foolishness. She looks around the room desperately.

"You have a nice view."

Damn. _Damn_.

She's an idiot. A moron. A fool.

He nods slightly, waiting to see if she redeems herself.

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and tries to think of a way to phrase her apology that doesn't make her sound like a total jerk.

"What brings you to Boston?"

Seriously? That was almost as awful as the first attempt. She gazes at the floor, lost in her awkwardness and missing the days when he was the one whom she felt most comfortable around.

He seems to take pity on her, though, and offers an answer. "I'm here for a computer convention. I work for a video game company now."

His voice is soft, but to hear him speak is heavenly. She breathes again, and has the courage to look up at him. He's staring at the wall, but at least his eyes aren't as cold as she's already seen them tonight.

She smiles slightly. So he finally got out of the Buy More. "Yeah?"

He nods. "It's a small company, but we're working our way up."

"I'm glad." There's another pause. Should she pursue this course of conversation? It's civil, but how long will that hold out? Sighing, she jumps in again. "I Googled you once." He looks up in surprise, and it's a relief to finally make eye contact with him again. "In a public library. Just to see how you were doing." He's speechless, so she explains a bit more. "I couldn't risk using agency resources to check up on you. Graham's been suspicious of me ever since I left L.A."

Silence descends upon the room, and her last few words hang in the air between them. He still looks shocked, and she's still nervous.

"I . . ." she falters, and when she begins again, her voice is barely above a whisper, "I wanted to contact you."

He takes a step closer to her, but before he can say anything, there's a knock at the door.


	3. Interruption

"Mr. Carmichael?"

He whips around, and, relaxing, beckons the knocker inside.

"Hey, Amy. You can come in."

She instantly feels a pang of jealousy as a young, cute, red-head walks into the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the red-head says, "I didn't realize you had company."

"No, no," Chuck replies. "It's all right. Amy, this is . . ." He trails off and looks toward the blond woman for help.

She rises from her chair with her hand extended. "Sarah. I'm an old friend."

Amy smiles brightly and shakes her hand. "It's very nice to meet you. I'm Amy, Mr. Carmichael's assistant."

Sarah smiles, partly because this girl's only an assistant, and partly because it feels so good to slip back into the persona of Sarah Walker. It feels so good that she doesn't want to stop being Sarah.

Amy turns back to Chuck. "Mr. Davis just called about tomorrow's meeting. He wants you to call him back."

Chuck jumps. "Oh, yeah! Sorry. I turned my phone off in the movie and forgot to turn it back on. Let me just go call him back then." And with that, he moves into the hallway to make the call.

Sarah and Amy are left alone in silence that is only slightly less awkward than the silence between Sarah and Chuck. She has no idea what to say to this girl, and really has no inclination to talk to anyone but Chuck right now. Amy looks at her studiously, making the older woman a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Amy begins with a chuckle. "Are you, are you _the_ Sarah?"

Sarah looks at her in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You know what? I apologize. I'm out of line," the assistant responds sheepishly.

"No, no. Go ahead," Sarah urges her, curious.

Amy appears unsure, but speaks after a moment. "Well, it's just . . . there are some rumors around the office about why Mr. Carmichael never goes out on a second date with any woman, and well, his friend always talks about how he lost the love of his life, this gorgeous woman named Sarah, and I was kind of just wondering, and it was totally out of line, and this is awkward now, and I'm really, very sorry." Amy finally takes a breath and looks away.

"Oh," Sarah blurts out. She's not sure how to tackle that topic, so instead focuses on a little detail. "His friend?"

"Yeah, Mr. Grimes. Do you know him?"

"Of course," she responds a bit too harshly, feeling the need to assert the fact that she knew Morgan long before this girl did. She softens her voice, "How is he?"

Amy brightens, mostly because this conversation has swerved away from dangerous territory. "Oh! He's really good. He just got married."

Sarah laughs, somewhat shocked at the news. "Married? Wow, to Anna?"

"Yeah," the redhead nods.

"That's so great." She pauses before asking her next question. After all, who is she to waltz back into Chuck's life and then grill his assistant for personal information? But she swallows that thought, and asks the question anyway. "And Ellie? Do you know how she is?"

Her voice is so sad and wistful that Amy looks at her intensely. Amy replies calmly, "Yeah, she's good, too. She and Devon just had a baby. A little girl."

Sarah smiles sadly at the thought of Ellie's perfect family, and how she herself had given up a chance at that with Chuck when she left him two years ago.

Amy continues softly, "He still loves you, you know."

Sarah turns to look at the assistant, a pained expression on her face. Before she can respond, Chuck returns, pocketing his cell phone.

He sighs, unsure of what to say.

Amy reverts to personal assistant mode. "Do you need anything else, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so. Do you need anything? Is your room all right?"

Sarah smiles. He's just the kind of guy who'd be a caring boss.

"Oh, yes, it's fine. Thank you." Amy turns back to the older woman, and shakes her hand. "Well, it was very nice to meet you, Sarah," she says with an encouraging smile.

"And you," Sarah replies, watching Amy leave the room.

"Good night, Amy."

"Good night, Mr. Carmichael."


	4. Starting Over

A/N: This is an extremely short chapter, but the next one's coming very soon. I promise.

I forgot to wish you a Happy Pi Day this morning! How silly of me!

* * *

Chuck sits despondently on the bed, his gaze averted.

Once again, her heart plummets at the realization of how estranged they've become. She used to be so comfortable in his presence. He used to be the one she could empty her soul to. He used to care for her when she needed to confide in someone. And now they can't even carry on a civil conversation without a thousand emotions bubbling to the surface and threatening to drown them.

Just as she's about to give up for the night, she hears him say in a choked voice, "You never said goodbye."

Her eyes start to sting, but she pushes back the tears. "Chuck . . ." she says softly, "Chuck, I'm so sorry. I just . . . I couldn't . . . without . . ." Her voice trails off. How can she describe the pain she felt that day?

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. Before he can collect himself and ask her to leave, she decides that she has to be willing to share everything with him in order for her to expect him to forgive her.

"Chuck, please," she says as she takes a seat on the bed next to him. He gazes at her with a hurt look in his eyes, and she can see that he's close to breaking. After struggling to keep her emotions in check, she knows exactly how he feels. "Chuck, I can't apologize enough. And I've never been good at apologizing. But you have to believe me when I tell you that it wasn't my choice to leave. Graham thought I was getting too close to you, and he reassigned me without any warning."

She takes a deep breath, and feels courageous enough to place a hand on his cheek. It's their first real contact, and she remembers with a pang how good it feels just to touch him. "I'm so, so sorry, Chuck. I never meant to hurt you. But I couldn't say goodbye. Because I knew if I did, then I'd never want to leave you."

He shakes his head, and she drops her hand. "I wanted so much just to hate you," he confesses in a forced voice. "But I couldn't. . . . I couldn't."

"Chuck," she pleads, "I could apologize every day for the next hundred years, and it still wouldn't be enough. But I'm here, right now, and you need to know that as much as I hurt you . . ." She falters. "The pain I felt was self-inflicted, and all the worse because of that."

He looks her straight in the eyes, and the struggle inside him is visible.

She has no words left, mainly because she's not the best with words, and so can think of only one thing to do.

She kisses him.

Expecting him to pull away, her touch is hesitant. But to her surprise, he opens himself up and sinks into the kiss, enfolding her in his arms.

As her body conforms to his, all the pain of the last two years melts away.


	5. On the Balcony

A/N: I've had some comments that the beginning of the story was intriguing, so I'm hoping the previous few chapters have been keeping your attention. Thanks again for reading!

* * *

She stirs in her sleep, and reaches across the bed only to feel cool sheets and empty space. Opening her eyes, she can see by the scant moonlight that he's sitting in a chair on the balcony, his head in his hands. Sighing, she slips on her panties and his t-shirt and makes her way to the sliding doors, her bare feet shifting noiselessly over the carpet.

He stirs when she opens the glass doors, and turns to look at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She's not quite sure where she fits in his life right now, what kind of role he needs her to play, so she doesn't know how to ask him what's wrong. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be in the mood to talk. He just reaches out a hand to her, and, when she takes it, pulls her gently onto his lap. She relaxes into him, sliding an arm around his neck and running her other hand soothingly over his chest. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

The city's asleep, its lights glimmering in the dark night. Every once in a while, a car passes with a slow _whoosh_ on the street below – their own personal lullaby. The quiet noises of the city at night threaten to speedily lull her to sleep.

"You should come back to bed," she pleads softly.

He groans. "We could sleep here."

She gives him a small smile, and touches her forehead to his. He sighs, closing himself off. She wants him to open up to her, but he doesn't speak. "Okay," she gives in, "Let's sleep here then." Closing her eyes, she snuggles into him, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. The cool October air is chilly, but his body is more than warm enough for her, even though all he's wearing is boxer shorts.

He chuckles lightly, and, gathering her into his strong arms, carries her back into the hotel room. She can't help but love how easily he lifts her. He sets her gently on the bed, and climbs in next to her. The cool sheets warm up quickly, making her even sleepier. Draping an arm over his chest, she's asleep before she can bid him goodnight.

* * *

Always an early riser, she wakes before him in the morning, but if she hadn't already made breakfast plans to further her mission, she'd still be lying next to him. She dresses quietly, not wanting to wake him, but he stirs as she pulls on her jeans. Groggily, he gazes at her. She freezes, mesmerized by his early-morning dishevelment. His eyes carry a hint of betrayal, but she quickly crosses to the bed before he can accuse her with anything more than a look.

Cradling his face in her hand and grimacing at the stubble on his cheek, she says softly, "Hey, I have some business I have to take care of, but I'll be back."

He rubs his eyes sleepily, withholding an answer.

"I _promise_," she emphasizes, which finally draws that gorgeous smile from him. She returns his grin, and gathers her things. "Besides, don't you have a geek convention to go to?"

Pulling himself into a sitting position, he laughs, "We prefer the term _nerd_."

"Uh-huh, I'll remember that," she responds with a chuckle. "What time does it end?"

He groans. "Mmm . . . maybe 4, I think."

She laughs. "Okay, I'll meet you at 4:30, then. All right? And I want to know all about Ellie and Awesome and Morgan and everyone, okay?"

He nods, and she leans over the bed to give him a lingering kiss.

"Heh, you need to brush your teeth," she chides gently, and he laughs.

It's so wonderful to hear his laugh again that she dwells on that instead of on the mission that's ahead of her.


	6. Unanswered Questions

A/N: Raise your hand if you thought Chuck and Sarah got back together too quickly! _raises hand_ Yep, I completely understand. So I present to you - _angst_! Haha, it's short, though, over in a flash. Don't worry.

* * *

She can't risk going out in case the man Rachel Meadows is supposed to be dating (or anyone connected with him) sees her with Chuck, so they stay in and order pizza. He's happy to do so, because it feels so much like their old routine. He offers to go rent a movie from the place across the street, but she'd rather just talk, have a real conversation for the first time in two years. 

"Okay, well, what do you want to know?" he asks innocently, as if he's not aware that she wants to know everything she's missed since she left L.A.

"Tell me about Ellie first. Amy said she and Devon had a daughter!"

"Yeah, yeah, she's only a few months old. Her name's Isabelle."

"Aww, that's so cute. I bet she's adorable."

"Come on, Ellie and Awesome's kid? Of course she's adorable!" he laughs, taking out his wallet. He offers her a small photo of Isabelle. "You can keep it. Awesome had like, 12 hundred made."

She accepts it with a melancholy smile, "Thank you." The baby's only four or five months, and she has Awesome's light brown, almost blonde, hair and Ellie's nose. Sarah can't tell whose smile she inherited, but it's wide and happy and infectious.

They're quiet again, and he takes the opportunity to dig into another slice of pizza.

"And Morgan?"

"Ahh, Morgan." He swallows his pizza, then answers with an incredulous smile, "Morgan tied the knot."

She has to admit that the thought of Morgan as a married man is an amusing one. "What? You don't think he can be a responsible husband?"

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, but I don't think he was quite certain of what exactly was expected of him before he entered into the marriage engagement." He pauses, and says seriously, "No, they've only been married about a month, but I think he's getting used to it. He's exceeding pretty much everyone's expectations."

"Including Anna's?

"_Especially_ Anna's!"

"Are they thinking about having kids?"

"Not just yet, but I think eventually. Oh, yeah! And he's the assistant manager at the Buy More now."

"Really? That's great!"

"Yeah, he takes it pretty seriously, too. Big Mike's pretty proud of him."

She laughs, and then lets the silence wash over her again. She wants to ask about what _he_'s been doing, but at the same time, she wants him to tell her on his own, without her prompting him. She chastises herself for wanting him so selfishly.

Her voice is quiet, hesitant as she asks the next question, "And you? How have you been?"

He clears his throat, and his eyes roam around the room before settling on hers once more. "I've been miserable." There's an unspoken _without you_ at the end of his sentence.

He refuses to break the stare, so she finally does, reaching for a second piece of pizza.

"What about you?" he asks. "What have you been up to?"

His honesty inspires her, and she answers truthfully, "Business as usual, you know. Globetrotting, espionage. But mostly trying to forget you."

When she finally has the courage to look back at him, she sees that he's regarding her sadly. "What are we doing?" he asks, his voice strained. "I mean, what are we doing skirting around the issue?" He pauses, overcome with emotion. "Why'd you leave, Sarah? Why'd you stay away?"

She stares at him, unable to answer because of the lump in her throat. She should have anticipated this, should have come up with a plan of action.

"I was reassigned."

He bites his lip angrily. "That's not good enough."

Stunned, she opens her mouth to argue.

Before she can think of an argument, he jumps from the bed and cuts her off. "I would have given you my whole self. And you just took off without a word. We could have been great, and you just abandoned that."

Unwilling to answer his questions, she asks him one of her own. "Why are you doing this, Chuck?"

"Why?" He paces around the room heatedly, trying to pin his angry gaze on anything but her. "Because last night was a mistake. I never should have let it go that far without finding out what your motivations were."

"All of a sudden you need to know my motivations? You were fine five minutes ago!" She pauses, and takes a gamble by using his own words against him, "And wouldn't my motivation be love?"

He stops, his look trained on her. He runs a hand through his hair, stopping to scratch the back of his head.

"Chuck . . ." she pleads, unsure of why their interactions are always so unpredictable, "We've been over this – why I left, why I didn't say goodbye. What more do you want from me?"

He calms down a bit, his breathing slowing. "But what are you doing here? Did they send you to make sure I'm not having any more flashes?"

"What? Chuck! How could you even think that?"

"What am I supposed to think? That you just happened to be here the same week I happened to be here? In this strange city that neither of us have been in before? That's got to be more than a coincidence!"

Her eyes loose their anger, and she responds softly, almost desperately, "Yeah, it's called fate, Chuck." He's quiet, shaking his head in despair. "You have every right to hate me," she swallows. "I just wish you wouldn't." She rises from the bed and makes to leave the room. As she passes him, she feels his hand brush her arm.

"Wait," he pleads, his voice cracking.

She turns to meet his gaze.

"I guess, it's just that I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that you're back in my life. But that you'll be . . ." His voice wavers. "I . . . I hated to think that you chose to not come back, that it was your decision."

"Chuck," she begins, finally understanding why his behavior's been so changeable. She moves closer to him, and takes his face in her hands. "Whatever is . . . off . . . in our relationship, it has nothing to do with you. Believe me, Chuck, you are . . ." her voice trails off.

She's close to tears, still reluctant and scared to admit that he's everything to her. After years of suppressing her true feelings, she's finding it difficult to confess her love for him. She looks down at their bare feet, running one hand down his chest. He shivers slightly, and once upon a time she would have been pleased to know that she could have that effect on a man.

When she gathers the courage to speak again, the words come out slowly, but certainly. "I stayed away because I didn't think I could handle my feelings for you. I've never felt this way about anyone. And it terrified me. It still does." She pauses, locking eyes with him. "Because I love you, Chuck."


	7. Drinks and Lies

A/N: Tremendous thanks to **Go-Chuck-Go** for planting this idea in my head. Gosh, don't you love obstacles?

* * *

Sarah sighs, resisting the urge to blow bubbles in her drink. Nicholas is boring the hell out of her. There's no way he's involved in the ambassador's bidding war. Her mind keeps drifting back to Chuck, and she smiles almost incessantly. Luckily, Nicholas thinks it's because of his cleverness. Still, her whirlwind with Chuck has thrown her off balance enough to make her uncertain. That uncertainty is the only thing that's prevented her from ending this date ten minutes into it.

She takes another sip of her drink, and forces herself to look this guy in the eyes. She tries to listen to what he's saying, but he's rambling on about fishing, and she never liked fishing anyway.

Focus, Sarah. _Focus_.

If there was one thing they drilled into you during training it was that distractions could get you killed. So she takes a deep breath and asks him a question that subtly gets him off the topic. She really, really hates fishing.

Just as she's steering the conversation into a relevant area, she catches a glimpse of familiar dark, curly hair.

Damn. She never should have agreed to meet at the hotel bar. It's almost unfair how much Chuck's presence screws with her judgment.

Sure enough, Chuck's at the other end of the room, followed closely by Amy. Neither notices her, and she slinks down almost imperceptibly in the booth, hoping the dim light will help her go unnoticed. Her ears start to buzz, and her mouth goes dry. She downs the rest of her sip in one gulp.

"Wow! Thirsty?" Nicholas asks.

She smiles charmingly. "Tell me more about what you do for a living."

Eager to talk about himself, he launches into a description of his job. Listening attentively, because this is what she's here for, she nonetheless keeps one eye on the end of the bar, where Chuck and Amy have sat down, Chuck swiveling on his stool.

She orders another drink, a virgin daiquiri this time, to make sure she doesn't get in over her head.

"What? Aren't you having fun?"

She plasters a flirty smile on her face. "Of course. I just want to pace myself. I have a feeling it'll be a long night."

He grins lasciviously. She looks around the room, her laughter ringing false in her ears, only to meet Amy's gaze. The younger woman freezes, hurt visible in her eyes. Sarah stops laughing, and the noise of the bar seems to the fall away. Fortunately, Chuck's back is to her, and Amy, for whatever reason, keeps his attention away from Sarah.

Sarah stands abruptly, muttering, "I have to use the restroom." She turns around, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. Once in the bathroom, she fights the urge to splash water over her face. She feels so dishonest, so sullied. She wants to scream, or kick something, or –

The door opens, and Sarah stops pacing. She swallows, trying to control her breathing and her emotions while not revealing anything to the redhead standing accusingly before her.

"Amy . . ." Sarah begins desperately.

Amy holds a hand up, silencing the older woman. When she speaks, her voice is remarkably calm. "Mr. Carmichael is not just my boss, all right? He's my friend. And I'd do anything to protect him from getting hurt."

"Amy, it's not like that, I swear."

"Then what is it like?"

She has no good answer. She can't tell her that Rachel Meadows is out on a date, which is really a reconnaissance mission. And she definitely can't tell her that Sarah Walker is cheating on Chuck, because she's not.

She sighs, and shifts back and forth on her heels. "Look, I can't give you a reasonable explanation, at least not right now. But no one means more to me than Chuck does, and I'd never do anything to purposefully hurt him."

Amy gazes at her intently, trying to discern the truth. Sarah feels as if this young girl, barely out of college, holds her fate. She's more terrified here surrounded by the yellow walls of this bathroom than she ever was in the grimiest, most squalid torture cells.

"I don't know why," Amy says, almost reluctantly, "but I trust you."

The weight on Sarah's heart lifts. She smiles impulsively and takes a step toward her.

"Don't make me regret it," the assistant warns, her tone harsh.

"I swear to you, you can trust me." Sarah takes a step back.

"Do you," Amy begins, but shakes her head as if incredulous of the part she's playing in this deception. "Do you need me to get him out of here?"

Sarah stares at the floor, her eyes out of focus. It'd be much easier to complete this mission if he were gone. But at the same time, he needs to know what her job entails, what she's been expected to do the last nine years. "No," she replies, "That won't be necessary."

Amy balks. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Sarah says. "He deserves to know."

Amy throws her hands up, clearly thinking that their previous confrontation is now immaterial. "Okay, fine," she relents. She turns to leave the bathroom, but stops, her hand hovering over the door knob. "He loves you. Remember that," she tells Sarah over her shoulder.

Sarah nods, "I will." Gathering her thoughts, she lets out a breath and returns to the bar. As she approaches the booth, Amy's just getting back to the bar. Chuck's turned around to greet her, and his eyes fall on Sarah. The pain etched into his face is unmistakable. Sarah stays standing, unable to break the stare.

"Hey, what took – what's a matter?" Nicholas asks, swiveling in the booth to get a good look in the direction Sarah's staring.

The question jerks her back into reality. "Oh, it's nothing." She sits down abruptly, and can see Chuck out of the corner of her eye. He rises with a determined expression and leans toward Amy, whispering in her ear. She nods, and he takes her by the arm. As they leave the bar, Sarah feels a pang erupt in her heart.

"Do you know him?"

"No," she lies, "He looks like someone I used to know."


	8. Stolen Weekend

A/N: Once again, thanks to **Go-Chuck-Go** for the idea! 

* * *

Shortly after 1:30 in the morning, Sarah bangs on Chuck's hotel room door furiously. She managed to shake off Nicholas by promising to go out with him again tomorrow night, and then she came straight up here, not even stopping at her own room to change. And her dress is beginning to itch. 

After ten minutes of pounding on the door, it's becoming painfully obvious that he's either not in or he won't answer. 

A door behind her opens.

"Hey, lady! We're trying to get some sleep! Mind banging on someone else's door? Maybe on a different floor?"

She turns around to apologize to the man, and he disappears into his room again. Despondent, she leans against the door and sinks onto the ground, bringing her knees in front of her chest, not really caring that her dress is a little too short for sitting in that position. Her eyes suddenly feel heavy, and her mind drifts back to her time with Chuck in L.A.

* * *

Sarah wakes with a start, opening her eyes to see a cleaning cart parked only a few feet from where she's sprawled on the hotel floor. Groggy, it takes her a minute or so to orient herself. She must have fallen asleep in front of Chuck's room. A maid walks over to the cart.

"I'm sorry," Sarah says, standing up and brushing off her dress. "Do you know what time it is?" 

The maid turns. "It's almost 10." 

Sarah thanks her, and looks around uncertainly. If Chuck came back, he would have seen her asleep in front of his door.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" the maid asks with a sympathetic smile.

Sarah runs a hand across her forehead, trying to clear her mind. "Uh, yeah. I'm just, I'm waiting for the man staying in this room." She gestures to the door behind her.

"617?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? I believe he checked out early this morning."

Sarah stares at the young woman in shock. She finally knows what he must have felt when he woke up that morning to find her gone. Settling on her last option, she asks, "Do you happen to know if there's some kind of computer convention going on nearby?"

The maid lifts her eyes to the ceiling, thinking. "Yes, I think there's one at the Convention Center. It's only a few blocks away. Take a left out of the hotel, and you'll come straight to it."

Sarah breaks into a smile for the first time since last night. "Thank you so much!"

* * *

Sarah strides into the Convention Center, barely aware of her surroundings. Once she's inside, she has no clue how to reach Chuck. She follows a few signs, but there are tons of different events going on at the same time – meetings, lectures, round table discussions – all of which sound tremendously boring. She stops and takes a deep breath. Spying a refreshment area, she heads toward it for a drink, to hopefully clear her head. Maybe she'll eavesdrop a bit to see if she can find out anything.

She takes a small glass of punch, and listens to a group of assistants arguing over who has the craziest boss. 

She chuckles softly at the conversation, but stops when she hears someone ask, "What about you, Amy? Mr. Carmichael's kind of a mysterious guy. Does he have any crazy habits? Late night laundry runs, perhaps? A strange addiction to yellow Pez?"

Sarah almost can't believe her incredible stroke of luck. Wanting to pinch herself, she turns to see Amy, standing in a group of assistants and smiling sheepishly. 

"Actually, he's the best boss I've ever had. He's so nice sometimes I feel like he's the assistant." The group laughs. Sarah can believe it. 

"Oh, come on," one of the men says. "You must have some dirt on him."

Amy's quiet, staring at the wall. Sarah knows she's thinking of Chuck's fascination with a certain blond who seems to have a penchant for breaking his heart. Amy shakes her head. "No." 

Sarah freezes as Amy turns her head and sees her. The redhead excuses herself from the group with a smile, and strides over to Sarah, her body language becoming angrier with each step. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" she asks in a heated whisper, glancing around to see if anyone is paying attention to them.

"Amy, please." Sarah holds up a hand to calm the younger woman down.

She takes a breath, obviously confused. "You told me I didn't need to get him out of there."

"I thought he would understand." Why is she trying to justify her actions to this upstart of a girl anyway? Maybe because he trusts her. Maybe he's even confided in her. Maybe -- 

"Well, obviously he didn't," she pauses, biting her lip. "And why would you think that anyway? What guy would possibly understand when he sees the woman he loves out with another man?"

"Amy, will you calm down?" Sarah finds it hard to believe that Amy's more worked up about Chuck's love life than she is. "I just need to talk to him."

Amy runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. "He's busy all day."

"He doesn't get a break? Even a little one?"

Amy stares at Sarah, wavering. "He's an important guy. Even during the breaks, he always has people after him, wanting to get on his good side."

Sarah tilts her head, not sure she understands completely. "What do you mean?"

Now it's Amy's turn to be confused. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Have you heard of Stolen Weekend Games?" Sarah shakes her head. Amy looks incredulous, but she repeats what sounds like a press spiel. "Microsoft just named it the up-and-coming company to watch out for this year. They've been building a catalog of games for the past fifteen months. Their first release, a puzzle game called Pineapple, was a major hit. They're releasing their second and third games – roleplaying games – next month and the month after. The hype is unbelievable." Sarah still doesn't quite follow. Amy purses her lips, and says slowly, almost patronizingly, "Mr. Carmichael is the Vice President of Stolen Weekend."

Sarah staggers. Amy takes her by the arm and leads her to a nice, plushy chair by the window. She's never been less in control of her emotions than she is at this moment. So Chuck had moved on, in a _big_ way. What did she want? What did she expect? That he would fall apart as soon as she left? That he would hang on to the idea of her to the point where the rest of his life would be neglected? No, she was happy for him, she really was.

Amy speaks up. "You really didn't know?"

She shakes her head again. 

"Look," Amy sighs, "If you'll come by the hotel tonight, I'll try to get him to talk to you. But I can't promise anything."

Sarah finally breaks out of her spell and looks at the younger woman. "But, but the maid, she said you checked out already."

"Oh, yeah." Amy rolls her eyes. "He insisted that we switch hotels. So we grabbed our stuff last night, went to the Plaza, and he checked out of the Marriot early this morning." She mutters to herself, "Actually, I should have used that instance as my crazy boss tale."


	9. Jealousy and Halftruths

A/N: So, once again, this little chapter is a brain child of **Go-Chuck-Go** and myself. :) Hope you enjoy it! This one came more quickly than I thought it would, and there's more to it, because I split it up so I could update faster. Let me tell you, people, the angst just does not stop! 

* * *

Sarah slows her breathing as she walks into the restaurant across the street from the Plaza. Amy, like she had promised, had talked to Chuck and gotten him to agree to meet with her. Only he insisted on a public place – neutral ground. 

It hurts her that he no longer trusts her, but she curses herself for being such a fool. Of course she should have had Amy get him out of the bar. Of course he never would have been okay with seeing her with another man. But she had stupidly wanted him to know the kinds of things she's been forced to do for the agency these past nine years. She almost thought it'd be like sharing a part of her. Only who'd want to share that part? She's recognizing now that being an agent is sometimes analogous to being a slut, and that there are things in her past that she'll never share, even with Chuck, or maybe _especially_ with him. 

Her breath hitches as she spots Chuck. He's dressed in a dark suit with a light green striped shirt and is sitting at the bar counter, his arm draped around one strawberry-haired woman while he talks to a brunette on his other side. She glances at the clock on the wall – 5:58. He should be expecting her. She withdraws her eyes as she realizes that he _is_ expecting her. But she can't look away for long. He gives the girls one of his dazzling smiles, and she can't help but feel that he's becoming someone she doesn't recognize anymore. 

She refuses to believe that she never knew him at all.

Gathering her strength, she approaches the bar confidently, a smile plastered on her face. 

Chuck's doesn't stop smiling, but hardens his eyes as he says, "Sorry, girls, but my six o'clock's here." 

One of the women giggles as she writes her number on a napkin and sticks it seductively in his jacket pocket. "Call me," she says coquettishly, grabbing onto his shirt collar and planting a lingering kiss on his cheek. 

Sarah bristles at the action, especially since it exposes some of the hair on his chest. Only a two of nights ago, she was curled next to him in his bed, her hand running over that chest. Sarah's tried her hardest to live her life with no regrets, and here she is, screwing up at every turn when it comes to Chuck. Somehow, he has that effect on her. He always had. It terrifies the hell out of her. 

Sarah rocks on her feet as the brunette sizes her up without bothering to conceal her disgust.

Chuck grins at the women, and they walk away, sending him lingering looks on their way out of the restaurant.

Sarah clears her throat, and he reluctantly turns his attention back to her. His face immediately assumes a neutral expression. 

"Come on," he says, rising from his stool. "Amy's saving us a table."

He brushes past her, and she thinks back to a time when he would have gently put his hand on the small of her back and led her to the table, when he would have pulled the chair out for her, when he would have been the chivalrous, gallant Chuck she misses and loves.

The table's not very far away, and Sarah's surprised that she didn't see Amy. She had allowed herself to forget one of the most important rules of training: distractions can kill. An agent eliminates any and all distractions. She's trained to take stock of a room within four seconds of entering it, and she had completely bypassed Amy, sitting only ten feet from Chuck. 

Amy stands, shooting Sarah an apologetic look for Chuck's coldness. Sarah smiles sadly in return. Chuck tells his assistant to go sit at the bar counter and wait for him, that his 'business' shouldn't take long. Sarah chafes at the insinuation. Amy listens, reluctantly though, sitting at the edge of the bar nearest them and keeping a close watch. 

"Well?" he asks moodily, doodling on his napkin. 

As hurt as she is, she's also irritated at his attitude. "Chuck, please, are you at least going to be civil with me?" 

He doesn't answer her for a minute, just continues to draw. Slowly, he jots the outlines of two big letters: an S and a W. Once he has those perfected, he fills in the rest of the company's logo. 

Stolen Weekend.

SW.

S.

W.

_Sarah Walker_.

Her eyes widen in surprise. It can't be. It's almost too much to read into it. But it's Chuck. She's perfectly justified reading that much into it. Something as huge in his life as the name of his video game company? That has to be a sign. She takes it a good sign and not an omen.

He finally finishes his doodle and looks her in the eyes, and she takes his non-response as a yes. She breathes deeply before continuing. "You didn't let me explain about last night."

"What's there to explain?"

"Apparently, a lot more than I thought there'd be."

He looks like he's about to answer, but a young waiter approaches their table carrying a martini. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but she," he gestures to a pretty woman at the bar, "sends her compliments." 

Chuck breaks into a grin, swiveling to send a flirty glance toward the woman. "Why, thank you. You may add her bill to mine."

The waiter balks. "Are you certain?" Chuck nods his acquiescence, and he says, "Very well, sir." 

Sarah scoffs as Chuck flirts across the room with this girl. He doesn't even like martinis. "Chuck," she says, in a futile attempt to grab his attention. "_Chuck_." 

He jumps slightly, and turns back to her. "I'm sorry." 

Wow, an actual apology. Maybe he's not so far gone after all. 

He takes a sip of the martini, and it seems to calm his nerves, though his anger hasn't dissipated entirely. 

"You need to understand –"

"Here's what I understand, Sarah," he says loudly, his anger back in full force. "I understand that you told me you loved me, then showed up at the bar the very next night with another guy hanging on you! That's what I understand!"

"Chuck, please!" she whispers, hoping he'll get the hint. He's starting to make a scene, and neither can afford that at the moment. 

He runs a hand through his hair, thinking, then says, his voice quiet but murderous, "I can't do this anymore. I was crazy to think I ever could." 

He gets up so violently that he almost knocks the chair over, then stalks out of the restaurant. She follows him immediately, pursued closely by Amy. He's barely out of the restaurant and onto the sunny street when he mutters, "Shit." Taking out his wallet, he heads into the restaurant. Sarah folds her arm protectively across her waist, and glances at Amy, standing close by.

"He has to come back out," she reassures her.

Sarah nods, and sure enough, Chuck reappears in a few moments, having successfully paid the bill. Of course he's the kind of guy who'd be worried about paying the bill in a situation like this. He stops as soon as he gets out of the doors, confronted by both a stubborn Sarah and a confused Amy. After a moment's indecision, he veers to his right, past Amy and toward the hotel. Both women stalk after him, side by side, no one speaking. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah sees a man in a dark slacks and a button-down shirt approaching from the opposite direction. It's a warm day, and he has his suit jacket slung over his arm. 

He grins and exclaims, "Rachel!" She doesn't pay much attention to him, or to anyone else brushing past them on the sidewalk. She has more important things to deal with, like getting her relationship with Chuck back on track. Once that screeched to a halt, the rest of her world got thrown off, too. The man has to repeat the name again before she remembers that _she's_ Rachel. She actually doesn't even remember until Chuck stops abruptly and turns around. She looks up in surprise at Chuck, then turns to the man smiling at her. 

"Mark!" 


	10. Spinning Tales

A/N: Wow, okay, I procrastinated on my homework (whoops!) more than I thought I would and here's Chapter 10. If things feel a bit confusing (Sarah's job, the mission), I promise to clear things up in future chapters. 

* * *

"Mark!" she says, recognizing him as a colleague of Nicholas's. The skirt of her dress spins around her knees as she swivels to face him.

"Yeah! Hey, I was afraid you didn't remember me!"

"No, of course I do, I was . . . a little distracted, that's all." She turns to Chuck and Amy. "We were just going –"

"Just finished up a business meeting," Chuck jumps in, offering his hand to Mark. "Charles Carmichael," he says.

"No way!" Mark says ecstatically, wringing Chuck's hand. "_The_ Charles Carmichael? Of Stolen Weekend Games?"

Chuck tilts his head, squinting against the surprisingly bright October sun. It's well into the evening now, and the sun is low enough on the horizon to be in his direct eye line. 

Amy smiles. "That's the one."

Mark, still grinning like a fool, hasn't let go of Chuck's hand. "I'm so honored. Hey! How are the new games coming?" He finally drops the handshake, but only to slap his forehead. "Oh! I'm Mark Bergman, by the way. I work with Nick." 

Chuck looks at him blankly.

"The guy Rachel's been seeing?" 

Chuck straightens his shoulders, and Sarah can't help noticing how nicely the suit fits him, how nicely the green shirt goes with his brown eyes. God! Even now, two minutes after she almost blew her cover, she's still completely focused on Chuck. "I wouldn't know," he says, only the slightest hint of anger behind his tone. Either his acting's improved or he's channeling his pain into his performance. With a pang, she recognizes that it's the latter. "It was just a business meeting," he continues. "We didn't talk about personal matters." 

Mark, who can't seem to shake that idiot grin off his face, nods but says, "Wait, I thought Nick said you were in political science and foreign policy, Rachel, our kind of stuff."

Amy shifts on her feet, clearly confused. Sarah ignores her, though, and her mind starts working furiously. "I am," she stammers, trying to formulate an excuse for a young 20-something who's interested in politics and international relations to be having a business meeting with a video game developer. 

"Do you know anything about video games?" Chuck asks, and Sarah stares daggers at him. The question is so random that she's certain Mark will see it for the red flag that it is.

He smiles confidently again, "I like to think I know a little about everything."

"Well," Chuck responds, "We use a technique called motion capture for the graphics of our role-playing games. So for the characters you see in the game, for the characters you utilize as a player, we have stunt people, martial arts experts, and the like, come in. They get hooked up to all sorts of wires attached to computers, and they do all the motions you see. Then the computers record those motions, and we can put them in the game." Mark starts to open his mouth, but Chuck cuts him off. "I know, we usually don't meet one-on-one with people. But Amy here," he puts an arm around her shoulders, "is friends with Rachel, knew her from back home, you see, and it turns out that Miss Meadows is quite the martial arts expert on the side. And Amy insisted that we use her in our next game."

Chuck stops speaking, and he's greeted with stares from all three of the people surrounding him. Sarah's shocked that he could spin such a tale so quickly and so easily, and all to protect her cover, to protect _her_. She feels her heart lift as she realizes that he's not entirely unreachable. If he could do something like this for her, he must be able to forgive her eventually. All she needs to do is show him that she's worthy of being forgiven.

Sarah recovers first, shooting Mark what she hopes is a convincing smile. Amy looks slightly sick to her stomach, like she wants the ground to swallow her. 

"Well, hey! That's great, Rachel!" Mark says excitedly. "I'm just about to meet Nick for a drink. Why don't you join us? We can celebrate!" 

Sarah quickly shakes her head. She's finally starting to feel comfortable again, realizing her job requires all her concentration. "No, Amy and I were going to spend tonight catching up." She puts a hand on Amy's arm and gives her a friendly smile, hoping the young woman will be astute enough to play along. She smiles winningly at Mark. "But tell Nick that I'll see him tomorrow night, okay?"

"Sure. I'll see you around, okay?" Mark asks. 

She nods, and he walks down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Before she can breathe a sigh of relief, though, he turns and jogs back to her.

"Hey, I almost forgot to mention it. Has Nick said anything about the ambassador's dinner coming up in a few weeks?"

She shakes her head, but her interest is immediately piqued. An opportunity like this is just what she's waited for. At a dinner party, she'd have ample opportunity to study people, learn their motives, see if any underhand deals are being dealt. 

"Oh, shoot. Okay, well, forget I said anything about it. But he'll probably ask you about it tomorrow. Just, keep your schedule clear, all right?"

She nods again, and he smiles widely, turning back down the street. Sarah watches his retreating form closely, her mind frantically searching for a way out of the quandary she's found herself in.

"What," Amy says, her voice low and deadly, "the _hell_ was that?" 

Chuck looks at her, his animation suddenly gone, and tries to calm her. "Amy, please, you won't understand, and it's better if you don't ask any questions."

She turns in a rage to Sarah. "Who are you really? Are you Sarah? Or are you Rachel? And _you_!" she exclaims, turning back to her boss. "How long have you been in on it? This whole time I've trusted you!" Though obviously angry and confused, she immediately looks as if she regrets her words, maybe thinking she'll lose her job for them.

Chuck, regarding her sadly, reaches for her arms. "Calm down, Amy. Let's go someplace where we can talk."


	11. Close Call

A/N: A thousand apologies for the long delay. I was getting back into the swing of things after spring break, and then I ended up getting sick. But this chapter is the longest so far (not that it compares to JMG's or anyone's, lol), so hopefully that will make up for the wait and tide some of you over until the next update. :)

* * *

Ten minutes later, the three are gathered in Chuck's hotel room. Chuck and Sarah are too proud to start the conversation, while Amy's simply too perplexed and hurt. So they sit in silence, staring at the floor, at the walls, out the window.

Chuck's on the floor, leaning against the bed. Sarah sits on the bed behind him, and when he tilts his head toward the ceiling, she has the urge to run her fingers through his hair. To keep from reaching out to touch him, she fiddles with his suit jacket, which he's taken off and draped on the edge of the bed. Amy's pacing the length of the room, clearly the most upset of the three. She finally breaks the tension.

"Are either of you going to explain what's going on?" Amy says bitingly.

Chuck looks at her as if just realizing she was there. When she realizes he's not going to say anything, Sarah begins, "Amy, it's . . . a long and complicated story."

Chuck's head shoots around. "You're going to tell her?"

Sarah narrows her eyes. "Of course I'm going to tell her."

"But you never let me tell Morgan. Not even Ellie!" he accuses.

"This is different."

"Yeah? How?"

"That would have put them in danger," Sarah says angrily, because he knew that. He's known that almost since they first met.

"Well, I don't want you to put my assistant in danger now." His brown eyes gleam with an emotion she can't quite place – a mix of anger and protectiveness and pain.

Sarah rises from the bed and crosses to the window, knowing she'll be unable to argue effectively with him if she allows herself to look too deeply into those eyes. "She won't be in danger."

"How can you be sure?"

"Wait, why would I be in danger?" Amy pipes up.

Turning her eyes to the darkening skyline, Sarah ignores her question. "Because I'm not going to tell her everything, just enough to let her understand what's going on."

Chuck's not satisfied. "No."

Now she's just irritated by his childish behavior. "No?"

"What if she becomes a target because she was ever loosely connected to you? I'm not going to let that happen." She can see his reflection in the window. He's risen from the floor and is gesticulating angrily.

Unable to reign in her emotions any longer, she turns to face him. "Chuck, that's implausible and you know it."

"Yeah? I used to think many things were implausible . . ." his voice is low, bitter. He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks along the side of the bed, his brows drawn.

Sarah's contemplating another mode of attack when he says, "You know the one thing I don't miss about life with you?" When she doesn't respond, he laughs mirthlessly. "The lies. All the damn lies. I wake up in the morning, and I'm grateful that I can tell my family and my friends that I care about them. I'm happy that I don't have to hold back my feelings for anyone who's too scared to let me in."

"Chuck . . ." she cautions, because this is certainly not the time to be having this conversation.

"No, Sarah, I'm not following your lead anymore." He stops pacing, standing directly in front of her. "All that time we had together, I should have told you how I felt."

"I wouldn't have listened," Sarah whispers despondently.

"Then I should have made you listen. I was a fool, believing you when you said we couldn't have a relationship because of our jobs." He leans closer to her and says in a low voice, as if he realizes his next words are beneath him, "But that didn't stop you with Bryce, did it?"

Amy gasps.

Chuck and Sarah turn; they'd forgotten she was even in the room with them.

"You know what, I should just go! You two seem like you have a lot to talk about," she says meekly, gesturing to the door.

"No, stay, Amy. Please. I need to explain," Sarah requests, at the same time that Chuck says it's a good idea for her to leave.

Amy, already on her way out the door, stops abruptly, glancing at the two exceptionally messed up people in front of her. Swallowing, she decides to follow her boss's orders, and she leaves even more bewildered than when she entered. When the door shuts, Chuck rounds on Sarah again, and she can see that the pained expression has never left his face.

She looks at him, silently questioning whether he wants to do this or not. She supposes they must talk about it eventually. But with Amy gone, he's suddenly no longer the valiant boss defending his employee and friend. He loses some of his resolve, and his armor flickers for a moment before crashing down completely.

"Is that what this is about?" she asks quietly. "Bryce? Because I was with him, and then I left you? And somehow that morphed into . . . a competition in your mind?" It's such a preposterous idea that she doesn't even know where to start. "Chuck," she breathes, taking a step closer to him, "I was with him before I even knew you. How can you hold that against me?"

He looks away, breathing deeply, shoulders slumped. She recognizes that posture – he's keeping something from her. "I don't."

She throws her hands up in surrender. "Then you need to give me something to go on here! You've been so up and down lately." Reluctantly, she whispers, "I have no idea what you're thinking anymore."

She used to be able to read him with just a glance – and not just because of her training. Because he was open, honest Chuck Bartowski, and because he never hid anything from anyone, least of all her. A pang hits her. She misses that Chuck. She wants that man back.

He sinks onto the bed dejectedly, lying on his back and staring vacantly at the ceiling. "Sometimes I have no idea what I'm thinking either," he admits.

She runs a hand over her forehead, trying to rub out the headache that's increasing in intensity. All she wants to do is erase the past day and start over, but she knows from experience – both personal and professional – how impossible that is.

"What's happened to us?" The words slip from her mouth before she even thinks of them.

He doesn't answer, so she walks around the bed and sits down beside him, leaning on her hand so that her face is above his. Invading his vision, she tries to hold his gaze, but he tears his eyes away. She sighs as an unconquerable sadness overcomes her. They've come to a stalemate, neither prepared to give ground.

His brow is furrowed, and she reaches to smooth it without even realizing what she's doing. He bristles slightly under her touch, but she refuses to let him have his way, caressing his forehead with her fingertips. When his brow has relaxed, her hand moves down to his cheek, cradling it tenderly. He finally locks gazes with her, but his eyes are still distrusting. She lets her fingers slide down to his chin and roam over the dark hairs of his goatee, an involuntary smile rising to her lips.

She traces his mouth with her fingertips. His lips tremble beneath her touch, and his breathing speeds up. He's just as nervous as she is. She hates how they have that effect on each other, but she concentrates on using her senses to drink in this man before her. Almost without thought, she leans closer to him until she's breathing in the air mingled with his exhalations.

Hesitantly, she gently brushes her lips against his, not wanting to go any further unless he wants it, too. It's a far cry from any of their previous kisses – all of which were passionate and sexy and thoroughly overwhelming. This one's no less breath-taking, though. Feeling no response from Chuck, she pulls away, only a centimeter or so, but doesn't open her eyes.

As she's about to concede defeat, she feels his mouth on hers again, and suddenly she's losing her balance. He grips her waist with one hand, and wraps the other arm around her back, holding her sturdily. Only she's sitting awkwardly already, almost doubled over. Still focused on him, she nonetheless subtly nudges him to her left. He complies almost unconsciously, and she swings her legs onto the bed, stretching out half on top of him. He responds by pulling her even closer. She smiles, tasting the remnants of the martini on his tongue, and fiddles with the top button of his shirt.

The action jerks him back into reality, though, and he breaks away from her, disentangling their limbs.

"No, Sarah, I can't do this anymore," he snaps.

Caught off-guard, she manages to sit up and ask, "What exactly?"

"The, the sex and the fighting!" he exclaims, his breathing heavy. He scrambles off the bed to put more distance between them. "It's like this endless cycle."

Though rebuffed, she can't stop a small chuckle escaping her lips. From what she's seen of the world, he's just described a typical marriage.

"It's not funny, Sarah," he says, his voice harsh.

She calms herself, smoothes the wrinkles in her dress. "I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you." He stares at her, his mouth slightly open in anger or confusion, she can't quite tell. "It was, well, you just kind of described a normal relationship, that's all," she stammers, the corners of her mouth curving upwards slightly.

He tilts his head up and covers his face with his hands. Obviously, that was not his intention, because what they have is the furthest thing from a normal relationship.

_If our relationship were remotely real_ . . .

His words ring through her mind. On how many occasions had he said those words? They were only too true, and she had been too oblivious to realize their weight.

"You know what?" he says, turning away from her and running a hand through his hair. "Go tell Amy whatever you need to tell her to patch things up. Just make sure she's safe. I don't care what you have to do – leave out details, or send an agent to protect her at all times – I don't care, just make sure whatever you tell her can't get her into trouble. I want her to be _safe_."

She's surprised by his abrupt change of mind, but attributes it to maybe wanting to be left alone. She nods sadly. Without looking at her, he grabs his suit jacket and rushes out the room. She follows him out the door, expecting to see his retreating form at the other end of the hall, only to find him still standing there, shrugging on his jacket.

"Amy's in her room, I think," he says, pointing to the door to the left of his own. He turns to go.

She nods again, moving toward Amy's room. Without looking at him, she raises her hand to knock and asks, "Where are you going?"

Even without looking, she can tell that he doesn't look back as he answers.

"I'm taking a walk."


	12. Girl Talk

A/N: Sorry again for the delay! I acknowledge that this is kind of a boring chapter, but I felt it was necessary, and I promise to get the next one (with _way _more Chuck/Sarah interaction) up as soon as I can.

* * *

Sarah knocks gently on Amy's door. "Amy? It's me . . . Sarah. I need to talk to you." Scratching an eyebrow anxiously, she waits impatiently for the young woman to answer, unable to keep her mind off where Chuck's wandering off to. She desperately wants to follow him, but repairing her delicate friendship, and her cover, with his assistant is the more pressing matter.

Sarah knocks again, louder this time, and Amy finally answers, a distrustful look on her face. She doesn't say anything, just stares at Sarah, looking slightly terrified.

"Can I come in?" Sarah asks, shifting forward.

Amy nods, moving away from the doorway to let her in.

As Sarah steps into the room, she can see clothes littering the bed. Suddenly, she's less worried about reassuring this girl and more concerned about not having much time left with Chuck.

"Are you leaving?" she asks, almost breathlessly.

Amy shakes her head hesitantly. "No, I just . . . I like to fold clothes," she says a bit self-consciously, making Sarah recall her own coping mechanisms. Right now, she'd like nothing more than to spend a few hours at the shooting range – not quite as safe as folding and refolding clothes.

Amy takes a deep breath, shifting on her feet, clearly trying to work up courage to initiate the conversation.

Sarah steps in, "I work for the government. My real name's not Sarah Walker or Rachel Meadows." She pauses, allowing the younger woman a moment to take in her words.

Folding her arms across her chest, Amy stares at the carpet. She finally sinks onto the bed, not seeming to notice that she's sitting on top of a pair of black dress pants.

When she speaks, her voice is low, almost weak. "How's Mr. Carmichael involved?"

Sarah moves over toward the window, watching to see if Chuck emerges from the hotel and onto the street. "He was . . . an asset for us a few years ago. That's how we met. I was assigned to protect him."

She waits for the younger woman to make a snarky comment about not protecting him very well, but it doesn't come. Amy just nods absently, trying to take it in.

A thousand thoughts come rushing back to Sarah about her time in L.A. The first time she walked into the Buy More and laid eyes on his lanky form, thinking he was in cahoots with Bryce. The first time she met Ellie and Captain Awesome – that crazy dinner with flambé soufflé. An evening with Morgan and sizzling shrimp. Their fake dates, which were more like real dates than some of her actual dates in the past had been. Their surreptitious glances, and hidden meanings, and unspoken feelings. His amazing smile, which could light up even her darkest days.

"So . . . is he who he says he is?" Amy's voice breaks her out of her reverie.

Sarah whips around in surprise. "Yes, of course he is." Her tone, though soft, leaves no room for argument. "Besides the name change, I mean," she says, suddenly remembering that Amy continually refers to him by his preferred alias. She stifles the urge to ask why he's chosen it over his real last name to use in the video gaming world.

It turns out she doesn't even have to ask. Amy perceptively answers, "I was hired after he started going by the name Carmichael, but he did tell me once that he needed to distance himself from his past life, that there were too many painful reminders. And Mr. Carmichael is who he thought he would have been if he had graduated from Stanford, so I think he just thought it would be appropriate. It also lets him have a private life even though Stolen Weekend keeps him busy and in the public eye a lot."

Sarah swallows at the likelihood that she's included in those painful memories and says, "Chuck, he's the most honest person I know. You're right to trust him. And," she says, pausing, afraid her voice is going to waver, "you're lucky to have him as a friend."

Amy nods in agreement, a small smile appearing on her face. There's silence while Sarah studies the younger woman, watching her expression change from reluctant understanding to confusion again.

"And what about the bar?"

Ah, yes. She was wondering how long it would take for this topic to come up. How much to reveal to her? She made a promise to Chuck, after all, to keep Amy safe.

"The man I was with?" Sarah asks, waiting for Amy to acknowledge that she's speaking. "He works for Ambassador Richards, the US ambassador to Brazil. Richards is suspected of some . . ." God, how does she explain to a civilian without endangering her? "Well, he's not a good guy. And he's home on leave for six weeks. That's my time window to figure out what exactly is going on, and how to stop it." She sighs, realizing how insane her life must sound to anyone outside of the agency. "I need Nicholas to get close to the ambassador, that's all. I swear, Amy. I would never do anything to hurt Chuck."

Sarah waits for a reaction. She'd take anything at this point – hatred, fear, anything. Amy takes in a deep breath, finally looking at Sarah, who takes it as an invitation to sit on the bed. She moves a few sweaters in order to sit down.

"So meeting him here, that was just an accident?" Amy asks.

Sarah nods.

"Like a second chance, huh?"

"Exactly like a second chance," Sarah concedes. She had never believed in Providence until she met Chuck. And though she made the mistake of leaving him, now that he had reappeared so serendipitously in her life, she wasn't going to let him go without a fight.

"So I guess he doesn't know about the other guy?" she inquires.

"He knows about the mission, but I didn't tell him any particulars."

"What made you think he'd be okay with seeing you with another guy?" Now that Amy's adjusted to the Omg!-Sarah's-a-super-spy! idea, she seems to be comfortable with asking questions. Sarah's grateful for that, and lets her direct the conversation, preferring to follow someone else's lead for once.

She sighs, turning her head to look at the wall. "My job prevents me from . . . divulging personal information. I just, it was something he would need to know eventually. I went about it entirely the wrong way, that's all." She lets out a slow breath, not used to admitting mistakes. Hell, as an undercover agent, she'd had a reputation for eliminating mistakes from her missions. _Mistake_ is just another word on that list of things that can get an agent killed in the field.

But she's not good at relationships, and in order to spend her life with Chuck, she'll have to accept that fact. She'll have to accept that she will inevitably make mistakes, and so will he. Hopefully they'll be sensible enough to forgive each other. She knows she'll always be able to forgive him. All he'll have to do to earn her forgiveness is flash his trademark goofy grin, and she'll melt. But will he ever realize how sorry she is?

Amy places a hand on Sarah's forearm. "I'm sure if you just talk to him . . ."

Sarah nods sadly. "Yeah, if I can just get him to stay in the same room with me for more than five minutes," she says, bitterness seeping into her tone.

"He's a forgiving man. He'll come around eventually." She corrects herself, "Soon."

Sarah finds that she can't vocalize her fears. Her fear that Chuck's finally become someone she doesn't quite recognize, that he'll never forgive her for what she is, for what she's hidden from him all this time. Maybe she's wasted too much time. Maybe they've lost their chance because _she_ let it slip away.

Amy says quietly, "It must be hard for you."

Sarah starts, and looks at Amy. She's never been able to have a frank discussion about how leading a double life affects her. And now this young woman suddenly understands her completely, even though she knows practically nothing about her. It's a dangerous opportunity to recover what she's lost in the sister she left behind – a confidante.

"How'd you get through it?"

Sarah looks at Amy closely, silently asking for clarification.

"I mean, living without him for two years. And then having to . . . do whatever it is you do." Amy gives her a weak smile, an apology for her ignorance of the spy world.

"Oh, you mean taking down international terrorist rings and deposing drug lords?"

'Yeah," she chuckles, "That sort of thing."

Sarah's face falls, and she says seriously, quietly, "I almost didn't."

She finds that it's easier to talk to Amy than she expected. She's a good listener, asking questions here and there for clarification. True to her promise to Chuck, she doesn't reveal anything personal or private that could endanger her. Even so, it's cathartic to simply let the words slip from her mouth, reliving the memories as she speaks. She doesn't talk about being a spy, really. After being forced to hide her feelings for Chuck over the past three years, she feels a tremendous release in being able to articulate, even partially, those emotions that have been buried. And Amy, too delights in finding an unknown side to the solemn, dissatisfied boss she thought she knew.

Sarah's amusing anecdotes about Chuck eventually turn to a two-way conversation about life and love in general, and Amy opens up about her own boyfriend back in L.A. Amy smiles shyly, and expresses a wish for Sarah to meet him, when Sarah finally realizes that their conversation can be construed as girl talk. She sputters. She hasn't bonded with a female friend, or any friend for that matter, since . . . well, since Ellie two years ago or more. Her face falls at the recollection of Ellie, and then successive memories of Awesome, Morgan, Anna -

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. Amy, startled, jumps up to answer it. She reappears a few seconds later, accompanied by Chuck. Sarah gasps, and stands abruptly.

"Chuck," she breathes.

Amy grins happily, nudging her boss in the side.

He takes a small step forward, clearing his throat. "I've been thinking, and," he pauses, nervously glancing up at Sarah. "Can we talk?"


	13. Stay

A/N: Apparently I underestimated the last chapter! Thanks so much for the good reviews. I'm glad that the response was positive, and I hope this chapter lives up to expectations.

* * *

Sarah doesn't dare say a word as she follows him back into his room, but she takes it as a good sign that he keeps his hand in hers, keeping their connection alive and open. His touch helps when he sits down on the bed and averts his eyes. As with Amy, though, she's perfectly content to let him take the lead, waiting for him to initiate the conversation. She sits next to him and holds onto his hand like she's trying to feel the blood pounding in the veins beneath his skin.

When he eventually speaks, his voice reflects the pained expression on his face. "Last night, you were . . . you were Rachel?"

She nods.

"And he," Chuck falters at the mention of the other man. "He was important for your mission."

Sarah responds calmly, "He's essential to its success."

Chuck nods his head shakily, trying to understand. But he obviously knew all this already, so why does he need her to explain it so painfully? And why did he not seem to understand it last night or this evening?

"Do you," he stutters, "do you need to . . . you know?"

He finally glances at her, and his eyes show that she should be following his thought process. Only she isn't. At all.

"No, I really don't, Chuck," she says, a little exasperated. "Just ask."

He swallows hard, and extracts his hand from her grip. His words are slow, effortful. "Do you have to seduce him?"

Sarah stares, and shakes her head the slightest bit. "Chuck," she says softly, breathlessly, reaching out for him. He leans back, away from her touch, and the rebuff hurts her more than any of his words or accusations ever could. Her hand stays poised mid-air for a few seconds before she brings it back down to her lap. "I would never let it come to that," she says forcefully.

"But what if it did? What if you couldn't control it?"

She's so taken aback that she wants to explain his questions away as wild conjectures, but he's speaking so calmly, so rationally.

She suddenly becomes defensive, though she doesn't raise her voice. "What do you want me to say, Chuck? That I'd put my love for you over my loyalty to my own country? Or maybe that I'd think of you while I was screwing him?"

He springs off the bed, his breathing labored.

Before he can get in another word, she says almost angrily, "It's my job, Chuck. And while . . . that particular method is always used as a last resort, I still have to consider it as a viable option." She pauses, taking a breath to soften her voice. "I understand what my duties are. I thought you did, too."

He paces over to the window, where he leans his forehead against the glass. She wants to go to him and rub the tension out of his tight muscles, but she stays where she is, forcing herself to calm down. It's understandable for him to be worried.

"I'm sorry," she says, and the phrase is becoming empty to her. It can no longer convey the depth of her regret. Even so, she can't bring herself to apologize for putting her job above him, because surely the demands of her heart matter less than those of an entire country?

He shakes his head, forehead still against the window. "No, I'm being unreasonable. I know how much your job means to you, which is why I can't ask you to give it up for me." He takes a deep breath, and she braces herself for his next words. "That's why this needs to end."

Stunned, she manages to choke out, "What?" Her quavering voice is barely audible, even in the silent room. She can't help recalling the last time he broke up with her. Of course, he was breaking off their fake relationship, but it stung almost as much then as it does now. "Chuck, please," she stammers, "we can work something out."

"What?" he scoffs, "Like you jet around the globe and I see you four, maybe five times a year? For a few days each time?" He turns around to look at her. "How is that fair to either of us?"

She can't admit that that's exactly what she was thinking, especially after he describes it so awfully. So she looks away, and racks her brain for a logical argument to keep this relationship from slipping through her fingers yet again.

"Sarah, it's too much for me," he says, his voice strained. "I'm sorry."

She glances up at him, and their eyes meet. But he immediately closes himself off, and for the first time since she's met him, he's completely unfamiliar to her. She rises from the bed, and rushes over to him. Cradling his face with one hand, she looks intently at him.

"Don't do this, Chuck," she pleads, choking back tears.

He lifts her hand away from his face and lets it fall. She almost breaks right then. To her desperate mind, that physical connection was her last hope.

"You're terrible for me, Sarah," he whispers.

She can't handle how close they are, how close they are without touching. Her lips are mere inches from his, and yet he does nothing to close the gap, just keeps talking like she's across the room. She aches for him. It's the first time she's been physically affected by her love for anyone. It's agonizingly liberating. She finally feels like she's found something else worth living for, worth dying for.

"I can't handle the lies anymore. I lived with them for too long. I can't handle the emotional rollercoaster we always seem to find ourselves on. I'm sorry, Sarah. I can't . . . I just can't let you back into my life."

He doesn't see, of course he doesn't.

"Chuck," she whispers, and he finally blinks and looks at her, their faces still only inches apart. "You already have."

It takes all her self-control to not kiss him, but she's had too much experience manipulating men with her body to do that to him. So when he makes no move, she turns to go, surrendering control and allowing a single tear slides down her cheek. She breathes deeply, trying to slow her heartbeat as she walks away from this man and the future she could envision with him.

She's at the door, about to disappear from his life forever, when he utters one word.

"Stay."

* * *

After finally admitting that she never wants to leave his side again, she spends as much of the next two days as possible in his arms. He has his conference, and she has her mission, but the time in between is all about him. Each time she returns from meeting with Nick, though, she sees a brief look of misery flicker across his face. He hides it quickly, but her overly observant nature allows her to catch it each time. That's how she knows that she's deep in this, and that she has to get out of this situation soon.

But right now, she pushes those thoughts from her mind, concentrating all her attention on the man before her. Tangled in the sheets, she lies in one of his t-shirts, her torso overlapping his. A smile on her face, she traces the curve of his lips with her index finger. Her hair hangs loosely, falling into his face. He reaches up to brush it back and tuck it behind her ear, and keeps his hand on the side of her face. She leans into his touch, her eyes closing involuntarily. When she opens them again, he's staring at her, the sadness in his gaze overwhelming.

"What is it?" she whispers.

He takes a deep breath and sighs, shaking his head. "Nothing."

She shifts slightly so that less of her weight is on his bare chest. "Tell me," she coaxes.

"It's just . . ." he pauses, "You need to focus on your mission; I'm going back to LA tomorrow morning. So . . . this is it, isn't it? Is Boston our Paris?"

"What?" She's taken aback by his question.

"You know, we'll always have Boston, that sort of thing?" There's a pause while she stares at him, trying to word her answer. Before she has a chance to, he continues, "Because I can't handle that. I can't live my whole life knowing I passed up the chance to tell you that I love you. The past two days have been amazing, but not perfect, because I could never shake that feeling that at any moment you might be gone."

He tears his eyes from hers and stops speaking.

She rolls onto her side, draping one arm over his chest and lazily tracing circles on his skin. She shifts even closer to him, so that her mouth is close to his ear. "Then marry me," she whispers.

His head shoots around, and his eyes search hers for all the implications of those three words. She nods slightly, a smile appearing on her face, and gives him a small kiss on the lips. Stunned, he asks, "Do you mean it?"

"Chuck . . ." she begins, not quite knowing how to vocalize her feelings. She wants to simply show him how much he means to her, but he's forcing her to say it, too. Unfortunately for him, she's never been good at apologizing, or communicating in general. "I already left you once. I'm not going to make that mistake again."

It's enough for him, and their deal is sealed with a kiss, his lips curved into a smile beneath hers. But as he pulls away from the kiss, his eyes betray the confusion he still feels. "Ho-how?" he stammers.

She strokes the side of his face, and tenderly brushes back a few short hairs above his ear that are barely beginning to curl. "I know I don't have the right to ask this of you, but if you'll wait for me, I can finish up this assignment, resign, and then be in L.A. within a month."

"You'd resign from the agency for me?"

"Of course I would."

She's upset that he feels the need to ask that, but is gratified when he gives her a huge smile.

"I'm just . . . so incredibly happy right now. I feel like this is a dream. Are you sure you're real?" he asks, half-joking, half-serious.

She kisses him, a long, deep kiss that is meant to assuage all his doubts. "Does that seem real to you?"

They spend a few minutes in contented silence, his arms wrapped protectively around her, before he says quietly, "I should pack."

She groans in protest.

"I have an early flight."

"I just want to lie here with you," she whispers, snuggling closer to his warm body.

He smiles, and takes one of her hands, running his thumb along the back of it.

"You know," he tells her, "the sooner I leave, the sooner you come back to L.A."

His inane logic makes her giggle a bit, induces her to extract herself from his embrace, allowing him to get up and pack his clothes into his suitcase.

"And," she exclaims as she watches him fold up a pair of jeans, the thought a little delayed, "the sooner I can claim you as my husband."

She smiles to herself, revels in that word. _Husband_. They can start over together, and he'll be all hers. They can stay in bed all day on weekends, if they choose. They can go on camping trips. They can head over to Moab, or down to Mexico, or anywhere, for a few days, whenever they feel like it. They can host parties, invite Ellie and Awesome and the whole gang over.

Complete freedom.

He laughs delightedly at the thought of getting married. "Hey, why don't I just meet you in Vegas on your way out to L.A., and we can get hitched there? I've always wanted to be married by Elvis."

"As charming as that sounds, no thank you. I want something . . . elegant, but small."

He stops folding clothes, then crosses to the bed and leans over her. "Then that is what you shall have."

She smiles – it seems like she's been doing that an awful lot these past few days – and kisses him again, her heart almost overflowing.

* * *

_Yes, I did need to include that reference to our favorite town in Utah! :D_


	14. Coming Home

A/N: I kind of don't have anything to say about this chapter, except that the story is definitely not over . . .

* * *

Five weeks later, she's in Washington, intending to turn in her resignation. Convincing Graham to let her resign proves to be impossible, but she finally argues her side well enough that he breaks down and gives her a slightly modified cover life for her return to California. Although he doesn't accept her full resignation, she's no longer an undercover agent, and will be spending her time in the relatively safe walls of an office. She balks at the thought of being confined to a desk job for the agency, but all she has to do to cheer herself up is recall Chuck's face.

Chuck.

God, five weeks without his voice, without his touch, have been misery.

Now, she's finally on a plane to L.A., and she can barely contain her anticipation. Antsy, Sarah's finding it hard to sit still in her seat. As she shifts for the fifth time in as many seconds, the man next to her huffs loudly and shoots daggers at her. Chastised, she attempts to sit quietly and read. Unable to concentrate on the book she brought, this attempt lasts for approximately two minutes.

The man, a hulking guy in his early 40s, is thoroughly irritated now. "Listen, lady, is there a reason you're all uptight? Or is it just your nature?"

On any other day, she'd have knocked this guy's crooked teeth out in a second, but today was no ordinary day. So, taking a deep breath, she calms herself, focusing her thoughts on Chuck. "I'm sorry. It's just, I'm excited to see my family again."

His visage softens. "Your family, huh?"

"Yeah."

He smiles. "Husband?"

"Fiancé."

Wow. It feels _great_ to use that word.

"He must be a very lucky guy." She smiles politely at him, and his look grows wistful. "I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk. I'm on a business trip – scheduled to be away for three weeks. I just hate leaving my family, so I guess I know exactly how you feel." He shifts awkwardly in his seat to pull his wallet from his back pocket. He opens it to show her a photograph of a lovely family of four. "These are my two girls – Alice and Michelle."

"They're beautiful," she responds truthfully. The girls look to be about 11 or 12, but she can't tell which one's older. Perhaps they're fraternal twins. Frankly, she's kind of reeling from the fact that this guy went from being a pain in her ass to her best friend in under three minutes. Usually it takes much more violent persuasion.

"I'm Dan, by the way," he extends his hand approximately five inches so she can shake it. When she does, she notices that his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, and it's rather amusing.

They pass the rest of the trip in pleasant conversation, and she's surprised that the time flies by much more quickly than she expects. But she nevertheless starts to freak out slightly when the plane finally touches down in L.A. She's surprising Chuck, so no one's there to meet her at the airport. When Dan finds this out, he insists on driving her in his rental car to Chuck's place, ecstatic to play the romantic part of reuniting a young couple. Amused by his large heart, somewhat hidden by his annoyed demeanor, and his crinkly eyes, she accepts, eager to get back to Chuck as quickly as possible.

The car pulls up outside of the Bartowski apartment complex, and she's fervently hoping that Chuck's home. She thanks Dan enthusiastically, even leaning over to give him a squishy hug and telling him to say hello to his beautiful daughters. Somewhat mysteriously, he grins and tells her to hang on like hell to a love that can make her that happy, and she thinks that he must be speaking from experience.

Clearly her throat nervously, she slings her duffel bag over her shoulder and strides through the courtyard. Impatient to get here, she'd left most of her clothes and possessions in D.C., intending to return for them in a few weeks or so. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. Bustling can be heard from inside the apartment, and Awesome opens the door a few seconds later.

His surprise is evident, but it quickly turns to jubilation as he exclaims, "Sarah!" and wraps her in a bear hug.

"Hey, Devon."

He laughs happily, and holds her at arm's length to study her. "Is that really you? Oh my gosh!" He yells back into the apartment, "Babe, come here! You'll never guess who just showed up on our doorstep!"

Ushering her inside, he takes her duffel and deposits it near the entranceway. Once in the apartment, she can see Ellie in the living room, playing with a seven-month old baby girl whose features are mix of hers and Devon's. Far from the elated welcome she'd been expecting, Ellie's look is cold. She picks up the baby, hands her off to Devon, and asks him quietly to go read her a story in the nursery. Devon, confused, but getting the hint, smiles weakly at Sarah and runs off down the hallway.

"Hey, Ellie!" Sarah begins brightly.

"Sarah," Ellie responds, in that deadly older-sister voice. "I didn't think we'd ever be seeing you again."

Ahh, she was starting to understand.

"Ellie, listen, I can explain –" she begins, but Ellie doesn't let her get very far.

"Do you have any idea how you broke my brother's heart? He's never loved anyone as much as he loves you, not even Jill. And you just up and left? How do you do that to someone you supposedly love, Sarah?"

"Ellie, please, you have every right to be mad at me, but I promise that I never meant to hurt him."

Ellie sighs, runs her fingers through her long hair. Her voice is less argumentative now. "Chuck said you had an emergency back home."

Sarah nods.

"But you couldn't even contact him for two years?"

Damn. The challenging protectiveness has returned. Sarah rubs her eyes, debating whether to tell Ellie the truth or not. She hasn't had an older sister to confide in for years now, and this could be her chance.

She sinks onto the couch, and Ellie, sympathetic, sits down next to her.

"I," she begins slowly, "am not very good with relationships." Ellie nods to show that she's listening. "Chuck's pretty much the first guy I've ever really, truly been in love with. And yes, I did have an emergency, but the reason I stayed away so long was because I freaked out. I freaked out because I didn't know how to handle my feelings for him." She swallows.

Ellie's eyes soften. "Sarah," she says, exasperated, but more with herself than with the blonde woman sitting beside her. "Here I've been hating you, when I should have just let you know that I was here if you ever needed to talk."

"Ellie, no, don't blame yourself. I swear, this is all my stupid doing."

The doctor sighs and hugs Sarah, apologizing profusely all the while.

Sarah pulls back from the embrace, smiling. "Now let me see this beautiful daughter of yours."

Ellie laughs genuinely, and, taking Sarah by the hand, leads her into the nursery, where Devon sits on the rocking chair, reading Isabelle a story.

Sarah spends an hour cooing over Isabelle before Ellie and Devon remember to break the news that Chuck doesn't live with them anymore. He's moved into his own house only two blocks down the street. Surprised, Sarah's also a little nervous. Before she can think of a game plan, the three of them hear the front door burst open, followed by a bustle of conversation.

"Oh, shoot!" says Ellie with a sheepish grin, "I totally forgot everyone was coming for dinner tonight."

Devon grabs his wife's hand and says, "Okay, we'll go out and distract Chuck, giving you some time to clear your head, Sarah. Then we'll send him in here in a few minutes. Sound good?"

She nods, and he shoots her a characteristically wide grin. Devon and Ellie leave to head off Chuck and the gang, and Sarah paces the nursery, Isabelle gurgling in her arms. Trying to make the baby laugh keeps her mind off of Chuck, but she can still hear the conversation in the living room.

"Hey, Devon! Ellie!" Chuck exclaims. There's some rustling, and more exchange of greetings. Sarah guesses a lot of hugging is going on, and there seems to be more than just Chuck, Morgan, and Anna, like she assumed.

"Wait," she hears Chuck say. "Where's Isabelle?"

"Oh," Awesome replies, and Sarah can just picture the wide smile on his face, "She's in the nursery."

"Alone?" Chuck's tone carries a hint of worry.

"Go get her, Chuckster." Awesome laughs, unable to keep the surprise any longer.

Sarah mentally steels herself and turns to face the doorway. The rapidity of Chuck's footsteps echoes the pounding of the blood through her veins. The few seconds it takes for him to make it from the living room to the nursery are excruciating, and by the time he appears in the door frame, her heart feels like it's about to explode.

He catches sight of her at once, and freezes, a look of shock on his face.

Sarah's unable to move. She's waited five weeks for this moment, when she'd be absolutely free to love him with her whole heart. And now that it's here, she's so petrified that she can't even greet him with a smile.

Isabelle's attention is drawn toward her uncle. She reaches out for him and laughs suddenly, a pleasant, gurgly laugh. It breaks the spell between them, and Chuck breaks into that grin that she loves so much. He crosses the room in two strides, taking her face between his palms and kissing her sweetly. She wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, to melt into him, but that's tough considering the baby in her arms.

He breaks away, the grin still plastered on his face, and places his forehead against hers.

"I thought . . . I thought you weren't . . ."

She shakes her head slightly, and he stops talking, the negative thoughts completely banished from his mind.

"I'm sorry it took me longer than expected," she whispers, opening her eyes and pulling away from him.

"What matters is that you're here," he responds, ecstatic.

She shifts Isabelle to one arm and takes his hand in her free one. Pulling him toward the doorway, she says, "Come on! Let's go surprise everyone!"

His face pales, and he grips her fingers more tightly. "Wait, wait, wait."

"What is it?" she asks, convinced that it's inconsequential.

"I have to tell you something."

"Chuck!" She grins, incredulous that he's so nervous right now. "Can't it wait? I want to see everyone." And with a laugh, she drags him out into the hallway.

When she reaches the crowded living room, she barely has enough time to hand Isabelle off to her mother before Morgan crushes her in a hug, his arms around her waist and his head on her chest.

"Sarah!" he shouts.

"Hey, Morgan! It's good to see you, too!" She says happily as he breaks the embrace.

"I can't believe it! We thought you were never coming back!" He's grinning stupidly, moving to jab Chuck playfully.

"Well, here I am," she says, returning his silly smile. She glances over at Chuck, and takes his hand again. "And I'm not going anywhere this time," she tells him quietly.

He gives her hand a squeeze, and then releases it so she can greet Anna with a hug. Ellie "introduces" her to Amy, whom she greets with a slight, knowing glance. She also meets Amy's boyfriend, James, an accountant for Stolen Weekend.

"Oh, you haven't met – where's . . ." Ellie trails off distractedly, looking about for the person in question.

Sarah tilts her head, wondering who it could be, and then looks at Chuck, whose face immediately assumes a pinkish tinge. She shoots him a questioning glance, but takes his hand again and gives him a small smile.

"Oh, hey! Ellie, I'm in here," a voice calls from the kitchen.

As soon as she hears it, a shiver travels up her spine. She knows that voice, though she can't quite place it.

There's some movement in the kitchen, and Sarah almost stops breathing in anxious anticipation. Soon, a dark-haired man appears in the doorway, carrying a few bottles of beers in each hand.

He freezes.

She swallows.

For the first time in over two years, she's face to face with Bryce Larkin.

* * *

_You thought our favorite couple was home-free, didn't you? But come on! I couldn't pass up that absolutely perfect opportunity for angst! :)_


	15. A Side of Tension with that Pizza?

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for the delay. Hope I didn't make you wait too long! And yes, the title of this chapter is somewhat random. But who doesn't love randomness? :P

* * *

Sarah and Bryce lock eyes. She drops Chuck's hand in surprise.

Ellie breaks the silence, though with the amount of people in the room, the extreme length of the awkward pause was probably only in her mind. "Hey! There you are. Sarah, this is Bryce. Bryce, Sarah." She gestures between the two. Bryce passes the beers in his right hand to Awesome, then reaches out to shake Sarah's hand in greeting.

"Hey, nice to meet you," he says with a soft smile.

She returns it, shaking his hand. "You, too."

Her tone must reveal her confusion because Morgan jumps beside her. "I know what you're thinking, Sarah, and everything's all right now! Yes, this is the same Bryce Larkin who got Chuck kicked out of Stanford and yes, it's the same Bryce Larkin who stole his girlfriend, buuuuuuuut everything's cool now apparently. They're even business partners."

She looks over at Chuck, raising an eyebrow.

He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Oh, yeah, Bryce is the president of Stolen Weekend."

"Oh," she manages to choke out. "I guess a lot can change in two years."

Before Sarah can challenge Chuck further, Ellie pipes up, "Well, we kind of got distracted and completely forgot about dinner. Who'd be up for pizza?"

A wave of approval goes around the room, and people crash onto the couch and easy chairs. Bryce retreats awkwardly into the kitchen for more beers, followed by Awesome. Sarah grabs Chuck by the bicep and pulls him down the hallway.

"I can explain!" he says meekly.

Passing the bathroom, she decides that's as good a room as any, and drags him roughly inside before closing the door behind them.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she accosts him immediately, not letting him get a word in edgewise. "How could you not tell me this?"

She lets go of him and he straightens up, smoothing his shirt. His tone is harsh. "Well, Sarah, I did try, you know."

"Yeah, two minutes ago! Don't you think you had ample opportunity in Boston to tell me?"

He sighs, and she realizes that she's overreacting just a bit. "I'm sorry if I was a little preoccupied in Boston."

She's quiet, wanting to ask how they patched everything up, how Ellie and Morgan accepted Bryce again, but they don't have time for that now. So she concentrates on slowing her breathing. Although Stolen Weekend's new game isn't due out for two weeks, she remembers seeing a few headlines about them. _Damn_. Why didn't she take the time to read those articles? Yes, maybe they would have made her miss Chuck even more, but at least she would have been prepared for this.

Chuck runs a hand through his hair, which she's delighted to see that he's grown out a bit. His gorgeous curls have returned, and she longs to run her fingers through them.

"Do you, do you still . . .?" he asks her, his voice uneven.

He glances over at her, his eyes heavy with fear.

As soon as she catches his meaning, she shakes her head quickly. "No! No, Chuck, of course not." Taking a step closer to him, she takes his hands in hers. "I'm sorry. I just wasn't expecting this, that's all."

She looks straight into his eyes until he nods, and then gives him a small kiss on the lips.

"Let's get back to the party, shall we?"

A small, somber smile appears on his lips as they walk down the hallway and return to the living room. It's much noisier than they left it, and they're hard pressed to find a place to sit. Chuck finally sits down on the floor beside an armchair and, smiling, pulls her down next to him, almost into his lap.

She chuckles, leaning into him with a smile, but immediately becomes self-conscious when she notices Bryce watching them out of the corner of her eye. From his perch on the couch, he clears his throat. She settles on the floor next to Chuck, reminding herself to act respectably. Chuck slips his arm around her shoulders, though, and she can't imagine this evening getting any more awkward.

But of course it does.

Amid the varied conversation, Anna inquires, "So, Sarah, how did you and Chuck reconnect? I mean, none of us really anticipated this."

"Oh," Sarah chokes out. She catches a glimpse of the petrified look on Amy's face before turning to Chuck, attempting to discern the extent of what he's told his family and friends. He simply gives her a sweet smile and small nudge, which she takes to mean: "I haven't really told them anything. You're on your own on this one."

She smiles back at him, but there's murder in her eyes. When his grin fades, she knows he's gotten the message.

He recovers quickly, saying, "She just couldn't resist me."

She laughs lightly, easing into the game. "Is that right, mister?" Turning back to Anna, her voice takes on a more serious tone. "The truth is that I tried to live without him, and after two years, I finally realized that I couldn't." She drops her eyes, but her smile returns when she feels his lips brush against her cheek.

Ellie jumps into the conversation now. "What about your job, Sarah?

Sarah swallows. "Uh, well, I finally got them to accept a transfer. I had to settle for a boring desk job, but I'll be working downtown."

"I can't believe you did that for me," Chuck says softly.

She swivels her head to look him in the eyes, only to find an abundance of gratitude.

"Of course," she whispers. She desperately wants to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, but at the same time, she's intensely and uncomfortably aware of the people around them.

She stares at him, immersed in his gaze, before Devon finally says, "I bet you want to know all about what Chuck's been up to. And how awesome his life's turned out."

She's loath to draw her attention away from Chuck, but she forces herself to turn to his brother-in-law, who wears his usual ridiculous grin.

"Oh, yeah! Chuck, tell her all about Stolen Weekend!" Ellie says excitedly.

Bryce chuckles nervously. "Nah, we don't want to bore her on her first night back, do we?"

Sarah looks directly at him. "No offense, Bryce, but I've heard you described as the Fett to Chuck's Solo, so you'll understand if I'm a little curious as to how you were so easily forgiven."

Bryce stares at her. "Who said anything about easy?" The tension in the room has noticeably increased. "Chuck turned me away at first," he continues. "Ellie slapped me! Repeatedly, if I remember correctly. Morgan? Well, Morgan just kept rambling about my doppleganger from Penn."

"Chuck told me you were dead," she says, feeling her way around his cover story, trying to figure out if he was still employed at the agency.

"Oh, that? That was an unfortunate case of mistaken identity. It eventually got cleared up, though."

Though he gives her a little grin, she can imagine how hard it must have been for him to return. "So why'd you come back?"

"Chuck's my only friend. At least he was until now. I just . . . couldn't live with myself any longer without getting his forgiveness. I was young; I was stupid."

"Even stupid people don't frame their best friends for cheating for no reason."

Chuck clears his throat nervously, and Bryce's eyes flick over to him. "No, they don't. I didn't plant the tests, but I truly thought they were Chuck's. I just wanted to do the right thing."

She nods, her mouth thin. "And Jill?"

"Sarah," Chuck warns softly in her ear.

She turns to face him. "I'm sorry. I know I probably don't have the right to ask these questions, but I come back after two years to find that your greatest nemesis is now your friend and business partner? I obviously missed something huge."

"Well," Ellie says, "Long story short: Bryce was an asshole, now he's sorry and we've forgiven him."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Sarah," Bryce says, "but does that mean we have to pay for them for the rest of our lives?"

She shakes her head, and drops the issue, deciding that a crowded room is not the best place to argue with Bryce over who's been the less horrible friend to Chuck.

Thankfully, the doorbell rings, saving them from prolonging the conversation.

"Ah, pizza's here!" Chuck exclaims, extracting himself from Sarah and jumping up to answer the door. He comes back a few minutes later, his arms laden with pizza and breadstick boxes. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she glances up at Chuck, who's setting the food on the living room table. Catching her eye, he gives her a soft smile, and it's enough to calm her. Everyone digs into the pizza, and Chuck brings her a few slices.

She smiles when she sees that there are no olives.

To Sarah's immense relief, the rest of the evening passes pleasantly enough. But after the flight from Washington, she's exhausted, and fortunately, the conversation begins to lull close to midnight.

Chuck nudges her with his shoulder. "Hey," he says with a smile.

"Hey, yourself."

"You look tired."

"I am."

He stands up, and reaches a hand down to help her up, too. "Wanna go?"

She nods sleepily, slipping her hand into his. She leans into him, and places her free hand on his chest. "Take me home, Chuck," she whispers.

* * *

As they enter Chuck's apartment, Sarah's too tired to take in her new surroundings. Normally, being tired would not be considered an issue if there were a mission to complete. But as she's no longer a spy, she feels like she can cut herself a little slack. So, barely paying attention to where they're going, she allows Chuck to lead her to the bedroom.

"Here you go," he says, pushing the door open.

She walks through the doorway, finally opening her eyes wide enough to get a good look at the room. It's plain - plain white walls, a plain green bed cover, a plain green carpet. No computer, no Wii and Guitar Hero, no _TRON_ poster hanging on the wall. She turns around, utterly confused.

He's standing just inside the doorway.

"What?" she asks unclearly, her voice laced with bewilderment.

He sets her duffel bag on the bed and shakes his head, not quite sure why she's confused.

She sighs. "This isn't your room."

He chuckles. "No, this is the guest bedroom. The bathroom's the next door on your right, and if you need anything, I'm down the hall."

She simply stares at him, uncertain of where exactly they stand.

"I just," he explains, "thought it'd be better tonight. We can talk more tomorrow, okay?"

She nods sadly, and he places a chaste kiss on her forehead before bidding her goodnight and turning to leave.

"Wait," she says.

He stops in the hallway. She crosses over to him, and pushes herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. Placing her forehead against his, she whispers goodnight. He brushes her hair back behind her ear.

"Tomorrow, all right?" he asks.

She nods again, watching him walk down the hallway and disappear into his own bedroom.


	16. Kocoa Krisps

A/N: Ha, the whole guest bedroom thing caused quite a stir, so hopefully this chapter and the next will clear things up and appease you. :)

You are hereby forewarned that almost this entire chapter is one long conversation, and that Chuck does not actually make an appearance.

* * *

Seriously?

The guest bedroom, Chuck?

What. The. Hell?

Irritated, she runs a hand over her eyes, realizing that she's not going to get to sleep any time soon. She glances over at the clock on the nightstand.

3:24.

Great.

Sighing, she turns and readjusts the sheets yet again. Five weeks without his touch, and she can't even sleep with him?

Okay, so maybe he just didn't want to have sex tonight. She understands that.

Maybe.

A few hours ago, she was too exhausted to want it anyways.

Probably.

But damn! Couldn't he have at least let her sleep in his bed? Just so she could snuggle up against him and wake up next to his warm, lean body in the morning?

She wants to scream in frustration.

Rolling onto her stomach, she sprawls out over the bed. She waits for sleep to come, but in the meantime, she hates Charles Irving Bartowski.

* * *

She wakes up the next day, after only a few hours of fitful sleep, and the first thing she does is go to Chuck's room.

Okay, the second thing. She brushes her teeth first.

Forgoing even a knock, she bursts through his bedroom door, a smile on her face despite her annoyance.

Except he's not even there.

"Incredible," she mutters, nevertheless taking the chance to observe the room.

It's remarkably like his old room – electronics scattered everywhere, movie posters adorning the walls, sci-fi books and movies lined on the shelves.

She allows herself a small smile. At least some things never change.

She makes her way to the kitchen, and it only takes her a second to realize that he's not there either. She spies a note tacked to the fridge:

"Gone out to get some groceries – no edible food in the house! Be back soon!

- C"

Cursing under her breath, she heads back to the bathroom to take a shower.

She's incredulous that he would leave, especially after promising that they would talk today. Letting out a growl of frustration, she climbs into the shower. The hot water is calming, and twenty minutes later, she's significantly more collected than she's been since yesterday.

After drying herself off, she throws on a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt, both slightly wrinkled from being tossed in her duffel bag. Her stomach rumbles in protest while she's drying her hair, so she brushes it and throws it back messily with a clip before returning to the kitchen for breakfast.

Strolling down the hallway, she can't help wishing Chuck returns soon.

She has no idea what to do with herself here.

She jerks to a stop when she sees a familiar dark head of hair sitting at the kitchen table.

"Bryce?" she asks.

He looks up. "'Morning!" he greets with a smile.

She glances around for Chuck. "What are you doing here?"

He swallows his spoonful of cereal, then says, "Oh, Chuck and I have some Stolen Weekend stuff today. And I'm always here. I live next door."

Like this day couldn't get any more absurd. Bryce-freaking-Larkin lives next door and is now lounging comfortably in Chuck's kitchen, eating breakfast like he does every day apparently.

Un. Be. Lievable.

But as she looks at her former partner and lover, Sarah can't help thinking about Chuck's half-unasked question from last night.

Truthfully, she hasn't thought about him, pined for him, in over two and a half years, but now that she's face to face with him, some of those feelings she thought were gone forever are resurging to the surface.

But what's there to do except trust that her love for Chuck is stronger?

She crosses to the cabinet to grab a bowl.

"Next one," Bryce says, guiding her to the correct cabinet.

"Thanks."

He saves her the trouble of finding a spoon, and she settles down across from him, grabbing the cereal box that he's left on the middle of the table.

"Kocoa Krisps?" she asks with a smirk.

"Taste them. They're delicious," he responds in the same joking tone.

She pours a heaping serving of the chocolaty cereal, watching it rise as she pours in the milk. She'd be perfectly content to sit in silence, but Bryce had never been one to be comfortable with not talking.

"So I have a few questions for you, Sarah," he says.

She glances up at him, munching her cereal.

"Is something going on? Is Chuck in danger?"

She swallows quickly, then looks at him in confusion. "Why would you think that?"

"Why else would you be here? I mean, they wouldn't send you unless something big was going down. I just don't get why they didn't let me know first."

"Oh, Bryce . . ." she says, her voice trailing off.

His eyes reflect her earlier confusion. "What? What is it?"

She drags the spoon through the cereal to prolong the inevitable moment of telling him. "Bryce," she says, her voice low. "I quit as an undercover agent. Now I'm just an analyst and paper-pusher."

"Quit?" His eyebrows shoot up. "No. No way. Sarah, you _love_ your job. I don't believe it. Why would you have done that?"

She takes a deep breath, and looks him straight in the eye.

Catching the truth in her gaze, Bryce shakes his head. "Oh, my god. . . . Chuck?"

Her silence confirms his question.

He chuckles in disbelief. "So you weren't joking last night when you said you'd be working in L.A.?"

She confirms it with a shake of her head. "What about you?" she asks. "Why are you here? Are you still working for the agency?"

He sighs. "Yeah, yeah, I am."

Even though she hasn't seen him, she's known him well enough to see that there's more to his answer. So she looks directly at him until he decides to tell her everything.

"You heard about the Fulcrum take down?" he inquires.

She had been out of the country when it happened, but she had heard about it when she got back. Even now, she doesn't really know any details. But at the time, she was able to breathe a tremendous sigh of relief when she knew that Chuck was safe from Fulcrum.

"Well, Chuck was pretty essential to the success of that," Bryce says graciously. "Afterwards, I just kind of stuck around here. And then the Intersect in Chuck's brain became obsolete, and the second computer version was successful, so he was no longer needed. Casey jetted out of here as soon as he was able, but only after he gave Big Mike his two weeks notice. I was assigned to keep Chuck safe, in case anyone else decides to come after him. It's an open ended assignment, but I don't mind it." He sighs. "It's a nice change."

Sarah's incredulous, but something bothers her about Bryce's story. "So your friendship with Chuck? That's just part of your cover? You haven't really patched it up?"

He shakes his head, quick to dispel her thoughts. "No, no, we're really friends again. It took a while, but we got there."

She takes another bite of cereal. "And Stolen Weekend? Is that another cover, too?"

"No, that's totally Chuck."

"So why are you the president?"

"Me?" Bryce blows out a breath, his lips puffing. "Chuck doesn't really like dealing with people. Being VP allows him to be the brains without having to deal with the bureaucracy. Besides, we had always talked about owning a company in college, and he wanted me to be a part of it." He breaks off, staring somewhat wistfully at the table.

Sarah can't help but recall their strained conversation the previous night in front of Chuck's family. She takes a deep breath before diving into a topic that may be off limits. "You didn't give me a straight answer last night, Bryce. What about Ellie and Morgan? I can't believe that they would so easily reaccept you into their lives, especially since you're supposed to be dead."

He looks at her again. "I know, and I'm sorry we couldn't talk last night. I would have walked home with you guys, but I figured I should let you . . . _catch up_." He says it suggestively, and the reminder that she didn't spend the night with Chuck rankles Sarah.

She breathes deeply as he continues. "Everyone bought the mistaken identity thing regarding my death, but it still took a while for them to forgive me. I think it was at least two months before Ellie would look me in the eye. But she eventually did."

He pauses, looking away. "And to tell you the truth, the past year and a half has been . . . just refreshing, you know?" A slight smile appears on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean getting away from it all. I never thought I'd miss regular life, but getting back to it has made me realize just how much I did." Bryce looks up at her again, holding her gaze. "And, Sarah, it's crazy, because they've taught us to be so self-reliant, but for the past eighteen or nineteen months, right, I've felt like Chuck and Ellie, and even Morgan, have been the ones taking care of me."

Sarah wants to ask him a thousand questions, but before she can, he continues. "I meant what I said last night, you know." At her questioning glance, he elaborates. "That I was stupid. I had the best intentions, not wanting Chuck to get caught up in the spy business. I thought it would destroy him." He chuckles mirthlessly, "I guess I was wrong."

Sarah chokes back the million contradicting things she wants to say to him, and instead lays a comforting hand on Bryce's forearm.

He looks up gratefully. "I just went about it the wrong way, that's all. I should have come up with another plan, something else that would still invalidate his scores but not ruin his life."

She smiles softly, "You didn't exactly ruin it."

Returning her smile somewhat reluctantly, he answers, "I guess not, but that doesn't stop me from regretting what I did."

He takes a deep breath and looks away.

"Bryce," she says, "If you didn't mean to ruin his life, what about Jill?"

It's another one of those forbidden topics, but she needs to know, if not for her own sake than for Chuck's.

Bryce's eyes flicker back to hers, and she can briefly see the shame they hold. "That," he says unevenly, "I never meant for that to happen either. Things just got so out of control after Chuck left. Our frat brothers turned against me for ratting on him, and Jill was the only person who knew him like I did. We just . . . found comfort in one another." He gazes at her intensely now. "I swear, Sarah, I never would have hurt him like that. Or her."

She nods, but still has questions to ask. She feels like they have so much to catch up on, so much to talk about. Before she can get over the shock of his confession, though, the front door opens, causing them both to turn.


	17. Confusing Things

A/N: Once again, sorry for the delay. This update is a little earlier than I promised, mainly because I needed a break from school work. But I'm happy to say that summer is almost here! :)

I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, so be sure to let me know what you think. As always, I appreciate the reviews! We're into the home stretch here (I'm projecting three more chapters), so thanks for sticking with this story!

* * *

Sarah and Bryce jump slightly and turn in the direction of the noise. Sure enough, Chuck comes ambling into the kitchen, a smile on his face and grocery bags in his arms.

Too bad she's too angry with him to return his cheerful smile.

"Hey, Chuck," greets Bryce. After quickly finishing his cereal, he deposits his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher.

"'Morning, Bryce," Chuck responds as he sets the bags on the counter. "You ready for the interview?"

"Sure, sure," he replies pleasantly, glancing at his watch. "I'm actually going to go meet Amy in a few minutes. So I guess we'll just catch up with you at about one?" Bryce tweaks the bill of Chuck's baseball cap playfully on his way past him.

"Yeah, okay. See you then," Chuck laughs, straightening his cap. He gives Bryce a wave as he leaves, then turns to put away groceries in the cabinets.

Bryce smiles softly at Sarah on his way out, stopping to place his hand on her shoulder. Grateful that he's giving them space, she returns his smile, turning her head a bit to watch him leave. She finishes up her cereal as she watches Chuck put away the groceries, swigging down the chocolaty milk.

"How was your morning?" he asks without turning around, his face buried in a cabinet.

She wants to tell him that her morning was horrible because she hasn't seen him since last night, but something – pride, maybe anger – holds her back.

"Fine," she says, her tone chilly.

If he notices, he doesn't call her out on it. "How'd you sleep?" he asks, somewhat clueless.

She laughs mirthlessly, a short, sharp laugh, which gets him to turn around and look her in the eye.

"What?" he inquires, twisting the edge of a bag of bread.

She looks at him intently, and finally decides that he really doesn't see the problem with sticking her in the guest room. "Chuck," she intones, trying to keep the deadliness out of her voice, "Are you serious?"

He looks at her blankly.

"We haven't seen each other in over five weeks, and the first night we have the opportunity to spend together, you relegate me to the spare bedroom?"

Turning, Chuck sticks the bread on the counter and plucks a carton of milk out of one of the grocery bags. "I didn't want to confuse things," he mumbles.

She tilts her head, staring at his back. She's at a complete loss to comprehend him right now.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, and she's beginning to be ashamed of the exasperated, almost desperate, tone her voice has taken on.

He strides across the kitchen to place milk and eggs in the refrigerator. "It means exactly what it sounds like it means," he says, his voice muffled from his head being buried in the refrigerator.

"Chuck, what's there to confuse?"

He doesn't answer, but stoops to put the individual eggs away in one of the refrigerator drawers. She stands up and takes a few steps towards him, intending to corner him against the fridge.

"You don't," she starts, her voice higher than she would like it to be, "You don't have a girlfriend here in L.A., do you?" Even as she asks it, she dismisses the notion as implausible.

Chuck swivels to face her, drawing himself up to his full height. He swallows when he realizes how close she's standing.

"Of course not," he says, a hint of hurt in his voice. "Why would you think that, Sarah?"

She knows she should apologize for accusing him recklessly, but she can't let this go. "Gee, Chuck, what am I supposed to think? You seemed fine last night until I came here." He's quiet again, and he doesn't meet her eyes. "Look, if you didn't want me to stay here, I could have just gotten a hotel room."

He runs a hand across his brow and sidesteps her, moving back to the pile of groceries on the counter. "It's not that. I just . . . I told you," he says, his voice low and bewildered, "I didn't want to confuse things."

Sarah lets out a growl of frustration, which causes Chuck to pause momentarily. She's been trained to control her emotions, but somehow Chuck always gets to her, sometimes for the worse.

"What does that even mean?" she exclaims. "Confuse what? I thought we figured out everything in Boston. We're engaged for god's sake!"

Agitated, he slams a jar of peanut butter down on the counter. It's startling enough that Sarah jumps slightly. His back is still towards her, but she can see him shaking his head, trying to clear his thoughts. She swallows, taking a step toward him and reaching her hand out. She's close to touching him, to rubbing his back comfortingly, before she pulls away.

Chuck turns and faces her, an exasperated look on his face. "That's just it, Sarah. Are we? Because I'm pretty sure that I came back from Boston and didn't hear from you for five weeks."

She huffs incredulously. "Chuck! You knew I couldn't contact you. We talked about this before you left Boston."

"That doesn't stop it –" he starts, but gets frantic and begins again, "Not one message? One voicemail? Couldn't you have called me once to let me know you were okay? To let me know that you still –" He cuts off and looks away self-consciously.

Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she asks, "Still what?"

He looks around the kitchen, searching for a way out of this awful conversation. He sighs and fidgets with his baseball cap until it fits more snugly on his head. "That you still cared about me."

"Chuck," she says breathlessly, stepping towards him. She lifts a hand to his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Is that what you think?"

"What was I supposed to think, Sarah?" he says, his voice calmer and softer now. "We talked about getting married, and then you just reappear in my life and I don't know if you really meant what you said."

She shakes her head, and cups his face in her hand. "I meant every word."

He looks at her intently, his eyes trying to read the meaning in hers. He takes a deep breath. "It's just . . . Boston felt like our own little world, you know? Just you and me. It's different here."

She caresses his face lightly, and he closes his eyes. "But why's it have to be? Why can't it just be me and you again?" she asks in a whisper.

He opens his eyes, inclining his head toward her. She moves her hands down to his chest, leaning into him.

"This is my life, Sarah," he says, his voice uneven. "It's my job, it's my family. What if, in a few months or so, you decide that it's too boring for you? I won't be able to handle that, not after everything we've been through."

"Chuck," she breathes, pulling away to look up at him. "I know I've made mistakes in our relationship – lots of them – but I'm sticking around this time. I mean it. I want this life with you."

He bites his lip, looking uncertain. A part of her wants to scream at him for taking them on this endless cycle of blame and apologies, but the vulnerability in his eyes is arresting.

She takes a deep breath. "I know I have very little right to ask this of you, but . . . take a chance on me, Chuck." She pauses, looking him directly in the eye, though his gaze is unreadable. "I'm asking you to give us another chance."


	18. Rings and Things and Fine Array

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry for the wait, but I'm finally out of school for the summer! :) Hopefully I'll be able to get the chapters up more quickly from now on.

I rewrote this chapter at least six times. Which should tell you just how much I hate it. :P I promise to try to get the next chapter up asap!

* * *

Sarah stands in front of Chuck's closet stark naked, listening to the water running in the bathroom. Before he had hopped into the shower, he'd asked her to pick out a suit for him to wear today. He and Bryce have an interview, and they're meeting the photographer and reporter at 1 o'clock. Sarah glances at the clock on the bedside table – already almost twenty after twelve.

So here she stands, thoroughly amazed at the number of suits Chuck Bartowski has accrued within the last two years. She runs her fingers across the jackets, delighting in the different feels of the materials.

The water shuts off, and her focus jerks back to the task at hand. She pulls out a standard black suit with silver pinstripes and lays it across the bed.

There. Simple enough.

But now she faces the much harder task of picking out a shirt.

The bathroom door opens on her right, but her attention doesn't leave the closet.

"Sarah!" Chuck shouts, his voice higher-pitched than normal. She turns to find him, in sport shorts and a t-shirt, frozen in the middle of toweling his hair dry. "What are you doing?" he inquires frantically.

"I'm picking out a shirt for you," she responds calmly, a smile on her face.

"No," he exclaims, "I mean you're naked!"

"So?" She looks down at her bare form, and lets out an impish laugh. "Are you suddenly shy?"

He takes the towel from his shoulders and wraps it around her hastily. "Geeze, Sarah. Just about everyone I know has free reign in this place. Do you want Bryce, or Amy, or _Morgan_ to see you naked?"

She fastens the towel more securely around her. "Don't tell me there's a Morgan door here."

He begins digging through his closet with enough interest to tell her that yes, there is indeed a Morgan door here. She rolls her eyes and reaches for a cardinal red button-down.

"Here," she says, plucking it from the closet and holding it up for his judgment. "What do you think?"

He glances at the suit on the bed and back to the shirt. "Yeah, that's perfect. Thanks." He gives her a swift kiss on the cheek, but she grabs him before he can get away.

"Not so fast, mister," she says with a mischievous smile. "I want a proper kiss."

Grinning, he surrenders to her embrace.

* * *

Forty minutes later, the pair stands outside of the restaurant, Sarah straightening Chuck's tie with a smile.

"There are the Stolen Weekend offices," he says, pointing at a glass building across the street.

Her smile widens. "I'd like to see inside sometime."

"I have a feeling you'll be visiting often."

She brushes some lint off his shoulder; he quirks an eyebrow.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing," he chuckles, glancing at his watch. "Oh, damn. I'm late."

She laughs. "By two minutes. You're fine."

He leans in for a kiss, but his attention is diverted by someone shouting his name.

"Mr. Carmichael?"

They turn to look down the street. A well-dressed man and woman, the latter with a camera slung over her shoulder, amble towards them.

"Mr. Carmichael," the man says again as he approaches, holding his out. "Ben Howard. _Time Magazine_."

Sarah starts. _Time Magazine_? The whole day, she'd been under the impression that the interview was for a tiny, local paper. She refrains from hitting him in the shoulder, instead coughing instead to get his attention. Chuck glances at her, and she raises an eyebrow. He shoots her an innocent look. She chuckles, deciding to let him off the hook for now.

"Yeah, hey. Nice to meet you, Mr. Howard. You can call me Chuck. Bryce, uh, should already be inside."

The photographer smiles. "Rebecca Whitestone. Pleasure."

"Hi. This is Sarah, my . . ." Chuck trails off, turning to Sarah for reinforcement.

Sarah, amused at Chuck's social incompetence, steps forward with a smile. "Fiancée. Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you both."

"Fiancée?" Ben asks, a little surprised. "That's actually a great aspect for the article. You know, the personal lives of the guys behind Stolen Weekend. Would you object to that?"

Chuck keeps his eyes trained on Sarah, and raises his eyebrows slightly. "Sweetie?"

She smiles. "Not at all. But I better leave you to business."

Ben and Rebecca bid her goodbye and go into the restaurant. Chuck turns to follow them.

"Hey." She grabs Chuck by the lapels and kisses him deeply. Pulling away with a smile, she says, "Good luck in there."

He grins. "Thanks. I'll call you when we're done, all right?"

She nods, watching him disappear into the restaurant.

* * *

After a full afternoon of shopping, Sarah's tired. Not that she doesn't enjoy a little time to herself, but after finally figuring out where she stands with Chuck, she really just wants to be spending time with him. She sits on a bench near the edge of the park, sipping a lemonade and watching the water jump in a fountain.

A man appears on the other side, blocked partially by the fountain. She shields her eyes from the sun, allowing the man's lanky frame and mop of dark, curly hair to come in view. A grin appears on her face as he looks up and waves.

"How'd you find me?" she shouts.

He laughs, and waits until he's closer to answer. "You always liked to come here to think. And I wanted to surprise you."

Chuck pauses in front of her, looking uncertain. She holds out her hand, and he helps her off the bench.

"Did a little shopping, I see," he jokes, picking up her shopping bags with his free hand.

"I needed to get some clothes," she responds truthfully, entwining her fingers with his.

He nods, and they head out of the park.

"And speaking of clothes," she continues, "I still need to get my stuff in Washington."

"Yeah, yeah, maybe next weekend?" Chuck asks distractedly, looking down the sidewalk both ways. After a moment's indecision, he settles on one way and begins walking.

She nods. "So?" she inquires, smiling.

"What?" he asks, unsuccessfully trying to evade the question.

"Well, fine," she teases, enjoying the leisurely pace of the walk. "If you're going to act ignorant, I won't ask how your meeting with the journalist from a national magazine went. Because maybe I don't care."

He laughs. "They asked about you, actually."

She stops walking. "What? Why?"

He tugs on her hand a bit, and she rolls her eyes and matches his pace.

"You know, Bryce had to bring up the Stanford thing. And they thought it was a great story – the scholarship kid getting kicked out, biding his time at an electronics store, then finally rebuilding his life with the help of his family and friends." He stops, turning to look her in the eyes. "Not to mention the love of a beautiful woman."

"Well, I hope you didn't say anything _too_ incriminating," she jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere. No matter how much she loves this man standing before her, she's still slightly uncomfortable with his professions of unconditional love, especially after leaving him so unceremoniously two years ago.

He smiles slightly, understanding completely. "Of course not. Hey, there's a store I want to stop at. It's right down here."

He leads her a few more feet down the sidewalk and through the door of . . . a jeweler's?

Sarah lets out an incredulous laugh, covering her mouth in joy as she looks around at the display cases full of glittering gold and silver jewelry. She turns to Chuck, whose grin widens.

He nods. "I figured if we're engaged, you should probably have a ring, don't you think?"

An employee pops up from behind the counter. "Did I hear the word 'engaged'?"

* * *

Half-an-hour later, Chuck and Sarah exit the store, the latter practically skipping in delight. She holds her now-adorned left hand out in admiration.

Chuck laughs. "It's not going to disappear, you know."

She slaps him playfully. "I know. I'm just . . . so incredibly happy."

He stops, pulling her in for a kiss.

When they break apart, she stays close to him, whispering in his ear.

Chuck takes her hand again, leading her home. As they walk off down the street into the brilliant sunshine, she knows this life will him will be inordinately happy.


	19. Epilogue

A/N: Thanks so much to those of you who stuck with this story the whole way through! This is the epilogue, which technically means the story is over, but I do have one more surprise up my sleeve, hehe.

Warning: This chapter is nothing but fluff. :)

* * *

Sarah's feet pound against the pavement even as she slows to a jog. She rounds the corner, a smile crossing her face as her house comes into view.

Their house. Their perfect, all-American dream house, in a safe neighborhood, with its beautiful, lush lawn; and the swing-set that Chuck had insisted on setting up in the backyard; and even the picket fence, though she had balked when he had jokingly suggested painting it white.

Her pace decreases to a walk as she turns into the driveway and shuts off her iPod, slinging the earbud cord around her neck. She waltzes through the front door, unsure as to which members of the household are awake at shortly before 8 in the morning. The house seems fairly quiet, but the smell of breakfast being cooked comes wafting in from the kitchen.

Before she can get there, however, a mostly naked five-year-old girl comes running through the living room brandishing a purple lightsaber, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Her soft, dark brown curls bounce happily as she darts across the room with her father's characteristic smile lighting up her face.

Sarah laughs, moving quickly to intercept her daughter.

"Zoe!" she shouts, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her in the air.

The girl giggles in delight. "Mommy, Mommy! Daddy's making bweakfast!"

"Is he now? That's very nice of him." Sarah settles Zoe in her arms. "And where are your clothes, young lady?"

"Hmmm . . ." Zoe raises her eyes to the left and to the ceiling, as if thinking. "I might have taken them off."

"Mm-hm. I see," Sarah replies in a mock-stern voice. She sets her daughter down on the ground and smacks her backside gently. "Why don't you go get some clothes on before breakfast, okay?"

Zoe laughs again and takes off through the doorway, swinging her lightsaber all the way. Sarah watches her, shaking her head. She makes her way into the hallway, but only takes a few steps before she gets the distinct feeling that someone's following her. Swiveling, she sees a blonde three-year-old boy, half-hidden behind a bookshelf, staring shyly at her.

Sarah laughs, sitting down on her haunches. The boy immediately rushes over to her, grinning happily.

"'Morning, Pete! I thought you'd be in the kitchen, helping Dad make breakfast."

He laughs softly, his eyes crinkling, but shakes his head.

She leans her head in, and her voice takes on a low, conspiratorial tone. "Wanna go see what he's cooking?"

Pete nods, his grin spreading, and she stands up, lifting him easily into her arms. Carrying him into the kitchen, she lets out a soft chuckle. He's so different from his sister that Sarah sometimes has a hard time believing they're even siblings. Zoe, almost the spitting image of Chuck, has been blessed to inherit most of his generous personality as well. Pete's been just the opposite – he's gotten her looks, including her stunning blue eyes, as well as her taciturn, somewhat introverted disposition.

The pair enters the kitchen to find Chuck standing over the stove, wearing a ridiculously bright apron. He turns at the sound of their entrance, and immediately a brilliant grin springs to his face.

"Hey, you!" He exclaims, setting down the spatula and crossing over to them. He envelops the two of them in a loose embrace, placing a kiss on Pete's temple and ruffling his hair. The three-year-old giggles, and his father wiggles his fingers, tickling his sides and causing the boy to laugh even harder.

Sarah smiles and hands Pete over to Chuck, going to check on the other children sitting at the kitchen table.

She glances at Paul, just fifteen months, sitting in a booster seat. Kneeling down beside his chair, she catches his attention with a soft, "'Morning, kiddo."

He looks over at her, smiling and babbling some nonsensical syllables. She smoothes back his dark hair, brushing it out of his eyes. He tosses around a stuffed C-3PO, attempting to entertain a baby sitting in a carrier set atop the table in front of him. The five-week-old Veronica gurgles in delight at the dancing yellow robot.

Sarah places one hand over Veronica's head, lightly stroking her light brown hair with her fingertips. Veronica looks up at her happily with warm, chocolate eyes. Sarah smiles, thoroughly enjoying seeing the Bartowski eyes come through in their younger daughter.

"How was your run?" Chuck asks as he returns to the stove, still juggling Pete in one arm.

She looks up at him. "It was great. Have the kids been good?"

"Angels, as always," he grins.

Zoe comes bounding into the kitchen and bounces onto Sarah's lap.

"Mommyyyyyyyy!" she shouts, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck.

"Hey, pumpkin!" Sarah holds Zoe out at arms' length. "I see you've managed to put some clothes on. Very good," she laughs.

Zoe bursts into a fit of laughter. "Guess what, guess what, guess what!"

Sarah's eyes widen in suspense. "What, what, what?"

"No, you have to guessssss!"

"Oh, okay. Um . . . have aliens taken over the planet?"

Zoe shakes her head with a smile.

Sarah pretends to think, running a hand over her chin. "Are you joining the circus?"

More laughter. "Nooooo. That's silly."

"Of course it's silly. We've got our own circus right here, don't we?"

Paul echoes, "Circus!"

Zoe laughs. "No! Uncle Bwyce and Aunt Wucy invited us to a picnic!"

Sarah fakes surprise. "A picnic! How wonderful! And did you tell Uncle Bryce that you'd bring your famous peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

Zoe nods, twisting on Sarah's lap as her attention's been diverted by Veronica's laughter.

"All right!" Chuck announces. "The first batch of pancakes is _finished_!"

A small cheer erupts from the children, Zoe easily the loudest. Chuck sets the overflowing plate down in the center of the table with a laugh and gives Pete a high five.

After breakfast, Chuck herds all the children into the playroom, where, led by Zoe, they enlist both their parents in a vicious game of cops and robbers. Except it's not all that vicious, because Pete's shy, and Paul just mastered walking, and Veronica's five weeks old.

At 11:30, Chuck and Sarah set the kids down for a nap, as they're supposed to meet the whole gang – Bryce and his wife Lucy, Ellie and Awesome, Amy and James, Morgan and Anna, and _all_ their kids – at 1 o'clock for the picnic.

Sarah, still in her workout clothes, decides to hop in the shower. She emerges from the bathroom to find Chuck lying on his back on the bed, his eyes closed.

She smirks. "Did you fall asleep, honey?"

He groans, opening one eye to look at her. "I can't remember what sleeping in on a Saturday feels like."

She pouts mockingly at him. "I know, baby, but we'll take a vacation soon."

He pats the mattress beside him, and she slides onto the bed, nestling into him.

"Mmm, you're warm," she mumbles.

He chuckles. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

She smiles into his shoulder. "Not since last night."

"Well, Sarah Walker Bartowksi, I happen to be totally and completely in love with you."

Sarah replies, "Then it's a good thing you also happen to be married to me, Mr. Bartowski."

She lifts her head away from his chest, and he takes the opportunity to capture her lips with his, bestowing a sweet, perfect kiss on her.

Cupping his face with one hand, she looks straight into his adoring eyes. "I know I don't say this often enough," she whispers, "but I love you, Chuck, and I'm amazed that I wake up every day to this incredible life that we've created together."

He smiles contentedly. "We're pretty lucky, aren't we?"

She nods, returning his smile. Because lying in his arms, with their children sleeping down the hallway, Sarah Bartowski feels like the luckiest woman on earth.

* * *

In case you're interested in where I got the names, I tried to get them from sci-fi related shows/books:

Zoe – "Firefly", "Serenity"

Peter (Petrelli) – "Heroes"

Paul (Atreides) – _Dune_

Veronica – "Veronica Mars" :)


	20. Alternate Ending

This alternate ending would come after Chapter 13. Warning: character death.

A/N: This was my original plan for the ending, but it was seriously depressing, and I couldn't handle writing it as the real ending. So I give it to you in this form. Feel free to let me know which you like better.

* * *

He stands off to the side, away from the small crowd gathered. His Converse All-Stars are little protection against the three inches of snow on the ground, but he's been so numb the past two days that he needs to feel _something_.

The snow falls thick and fast, and the wind seems to blow more fiercely with each passing moment. His unbuttoned overcoat flaps uselessly in the brutal gusts. His face is red and stung with the cold, but he barely registers it.

A fat snowflake falls onto his nose, and his brain dimly tells him that he's cold.

He's cold. But it's better than heartbroken.

Snow. Ice. Cold.

Vermont. At least now he knows she lives in Vermont.

_Lived._

Without warning, a sob escapes his chest.

Casey turns at the sound, flicking a glance over his shoulder.

Yes, Casey's here, wouldn't take no for an answer. Bryce and Carina, too, both looking more subdued than he had ever seen them. And Graham. Even Beckman.

Across from the small group of government agents stand her parents and sister. Her _parents_.

He finally meets her family, finally gets to know who she is, and he can't even enjoy it.

Running a hand over his eyes, he pretends he's wiping away snowflakes that have fallen onto his cheeks. He wants to run somewhere – to Russia, or Argentina, or Australia – to live out his days in peace and solitude. He wants to run away from all the pain, from the harshness of the world that won't let him forget her. But even as he contemplates it, he knows what she would think of that, and he doesn't want her to see him as a coward.

So he puts on the bravest face he can muster, and listens absently as the priest finishes up the ceremony. Almost unable to bear it, he watches the small group of people pay their respects. He's shaking as he sees Casey approach him out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't you want to say something, Bartowski?"

He swallows, shakes his head numbly, thinking he'll go through the rest of his life in a haze, never experiencing anything with the vitality he felt when she was next to him. He shakes his head again, but he knows Casey understands what he means. He just can't say goodbye. Not now.

Casey sighs, "It's not your fault, you know."

Casey doesn't understand. He never will. He's a part of her world, always was and always will be. But Chuck, Chuck had to fight every day to be worthy of her. And now she's gone, and he has nowhere to turn.

"It is, Casey," he spits out bitterly, his breath hitching. "It is my fault. She got sloppy because I distracted her and . . . and –"

"No," the NSA agent says firmly, placing a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "You give yourself too much credit. She was never sloppy. I reviewed the report, and," he pauses, swallows, taking the time to phrase his next thought, "sometimes things happen beyond an agent's control."

Chuck takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying his best to keep the tears from cascading down his frozen cheeks. "What am I supposed to do?" he asks, his voice finally breaking down. "How am I supposed to live without her?"

Casey sighs, surprisingly reluctant to step into his role of the tough guy. "You got through the past two years, didn't you? Give it time. You'll be surprised at how fast the memories fade, at how quickly the pain dulls."

Chuck glances over at the older man, realizing that he's been through this before, that he's speaking from experience.

"I don't," he falters, "I don't want them to fade."

Casey looks him directly in the eye. "Then don't let them." Reaching inside his jacket, he takes out a faded envelope and hands it to Chuck. "She wrote this just before she left. Wanted me to keep it safe for you and give it to you when the time was right."

Chuck nods almost absently and takes the envelope, his fingers shaking uncontrollably. His name's written on the outside, the writing discolored. Seeing her writing jars him. Casey nods in commiseration, returning to stand near Bryce and Carina. With a sob, Chuck wanders absently to a nearby tree, leans against it, and sinks down into the snow.

His fingers, purple with cold, tremble as they open the envelope. His breath comes in harsh gasps, and he suddenly feels lightheaded. Unfolding the letter slowly, he lets his eyes rest on her handwriting, allowing himself to drink in her words.

_Dear Chuck,_

_I'm writing this while you sleep. I've spent many hours watching people, but watching you sleep is the most calming thing I've ever experienced. I'm sorry that you won't get to read this until either I've completely withdrawn from the agency, or_

_I'm sorry, but I need to write this._

_You asked me last night if I regretted anything._

_Now you're probably expecting a confession of my life story. But that's the thing. I've come to think of my life in three phases. There's the beginning – the time I spent as Katharine Lisa Callaghan. Then there's my induction into the agency and my reinvention as Sarah Walker. And finally, there's us. Because I've come to think of the day we met as when my life truly began._

_As terrifying as defusing bombs and foiling terrorists can be, it's nothing compared to being in love. I've never been able to discuss my feelings very well, and I'm not much better with writing them either. Even with Bryce – we can talk about him now, right? It's been over two years, after all. But even my relationship with Bryce was important step in my emotional growth. I feel like it was necessary to my --_

_Sorry, you stirred, and I thought you might have woken up. As much as I love you, Chuck, that would have been disastrous. But now you're sleeping again, snoring away lightly. Yes, Chuck, you snore. No matter what you say. I'm listening to you right now. You're snoring. But I'm smiling (in case you can't tell)._

_Even my relationship with Bryce was a necessary step in leading me to you. I'm sorry that it caused you so much pain. I only hope you understand that he helped me become the person you fell in love with._

_It must seem strange to you that I'm writing this farewell letter when you will probably never read it until many years later. Or perhaps something will go horribly wrong on a mission relatively soon, and you will read it sooner than I wish you had to. I don't know how old you are as your eyes read these words. Maybe we've spent fifty years together – had a long and happy life. Maybe we've had children who have grown up and had children of their own. Maybe we didn't have nearly as much time as we needed. Maybe I didn't get to say the things you needed to hear, everything your expressive eyes begged me to articulate during the past few years. Maybe we didn't get any time at all._

_I hope the last is not the case. Because even as I write this, you're still sleeping peacefully, and I know I will not last very long without your gentle touch. I've never needed anyone in my entire life. And then you came along, and with your lopsided smile and your ridiculously expansive knowledge of geek – excuse me, nerd - culture, you flipped my life upside down, and made me care about something outside myself._

_So when you wake this morning, I hope you realize that though I am gone, my love stays with you. I hope you realize as you live your life that I'll come back. I'm not sure how long I'll be, how long I'll need to figure things out, but I promise to come back. And I know that you won't get to read this until it's too late, but even if you spend the rest of my life hating me, or not understanding, I hope this letter changes your perspective._

_You asked me last night if I had any regrets._

_Just one:_

_That I never told you._

_Love eternal,_

_Sarah_

Since the letter's opening line, the tears have been violently coursing down Chuck's cheeks, and there is no sign of their cessation. In anguish, in desperation, he crumples the paper in his hand, futilely wishing that he can turn back time and set everything right with her.

Far from alleviating a portion of his pain, the letter only serves to confuse him further and make his thoughts even more jumbled. He feels like he has absolutely no one to turn to now that she's gone. He's completely purposeless.

Seeing someone approach, he chokes back his sobs, trying to check his tears. The woman stands a few feet in front of him, and Chuck can see a reflection of his own pain written on her face. She looks . . . she looks so much like her that it's nearly insufferable. Her hair's darker, not as golden as hers was. And she's younger, he can tell. But her eyes. They're the same brilliant shade of blue.

She looks down at him somberly. "I'm Molly." When he doesn't respond, she continues, "You must be Chuck." She kneels down, the snow soaking through her skirt. He looks away. "We didn't get to talk much, but she did mention you." He glances back at her. "She told me that she finally found someone she could give her heart to. She was so excited for us to meet you."

If it wasn't already broken, Chuck's heart would break right now. Not just break – shatter. A fresh wave of tears washes over him. Molly reaches out, holding him in an awkward hug. But instead of comforting him, she attempts to hoist him to his feet.

"Come on, Chuck. You need to go. You're going to catch pneumonia sitting out here in the cold, wet snow."

He complies unwillingly, barely able to stand on his own two feet. She supports him under one shoulder, and he leans on her more than is necessary. She starts to walk away, and Chuck drags his feet uncooperatively.

"Where are we going?" he says in between sobs, his voice unsteady.

They stop walking, and Molly gazes at him earnestly. "Back to our house. There are some things she wanted you to see, to know. And you need some dry clothes."

He looks at her curiously.

"I'll take care of you, Chuck. For as long as you need me to."

"Why?"

She looks away, and they start walking again. He makes an effort to lean on her less. When they reach the car, he sees her parents sitting in the front seat, holding hands in their grief. The sight is oddly comforting.

Molly opens the back door for him. "Because she's my sister. I love her, and so do you."

Chuck slides into the back seat, and Molly shuts the door behind him. She circles the car and climbs in next to him. She looks over at him, giving him a small, sad smile. He returns it, and glances around the car at these strangers who have taken him in on their daughter's word. They trust him because she loved him. The thought buoys his heart.

Watching Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan, he can't help thinking about Ellie and Devon, and Morgan, and Anna – his family back home. They'll be waiting for him, ready to help him mourn.

Mr. Callaghan starts the car and pulls out of the cemetery. The melancholy smile stays on his lips as he realizes that even in his sorrow, he is not alone.

_Finis._


End file.
